


Your Mark on My Skin

by pterawaters



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Evil Peter Hale, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Persecution of Werewolves, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterawaters/pseuds/pterawaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite everyone telling him not to, Stiles takes his wizard's vision seriously and tattoos the image from his dream onto his wrist. When he runs across a man with the same symbol emblazoned on his back, Stiles knows he can't let the mysterious stranger get away. Maybe it's wrong to use the werewolf's fugitive status against him, but Stiles knows he only has one option. If he gives Derek a disguise, but doesn't bind the spell to himself, there's nothing else to keep Derek from running away at the first opportunity. Of course Stiles had to pick the one obscure face that Lord Jackson knew from his childhood. In a land run by a king bent on killing all the werewolves he can find, the only way to keep Lord Jackson from asking questions is for Derek to play Stiles' lover. Once that happens, well maybe the situation starts to get out of control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Mark on My Skin

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [Teen Wolf Reverse Bang](http://twreversebang.livejournal.com/). Art was done by [hapuron](http://hapuron.livejournal.com). Beta reading was done by chocoholicannanymous. Thanks again!

Stiles watched his father's lieutenants load everything up onto the horses, wincing when one of them dropped the bag with his toiletries in it. He wasn't worried for his soaps (though one was kind of crumbly and was probably in a million pieces now). Stiles worried that the little ceramic washing pitcher his mother had given him would be shattered, even though he wrapped it up in about ten layers of cloth. He didn't realize he was absent-mindedly scratching his left wrist until his father elbowed him.

"I told you that you shouldn't have gotten that thing," Dad said, eyeing the tattoo on the inside of Stiles' wrist. 

Rolling his eyes, Stiles replied, "What sort of wizard doesn't follow the instructions he gets from a vision quest?"

"The kind that lives long enough to take over from his father when the time comes." Dad crossed his arms over his chest and gave Stiles a side-long look. "'Least if you come back from this alive, I'll know you're fit to take over from me."

"Stop eating all those cakes Mrs. McCall makes for you and we won't have to find that out for a long, long time." Stiles grinned at his father and winked. 

Dad sighed and watched as Scott McCall trotted into the courtyard right behind Allison D'Or. Quietly, Dad said, "Son? Are you sure you want McCall with you? I know he's your friend, but with Arg– I mean, D'Or along, he's going to be so distracted. You may think you're doing him a favor right up until the moment he gets your ass killed. There've been more and more fugitive werewolves on the road this year."

Stiles sighed and watched Scott help Allison up into her horse. Stiles had heard the rumors about the increase in werewolf attacks, just like he'd heard the tales of people sighting the Fugitive Prince. Dad must have heard those rumors too, but he wouldn't mention them because of his loyalty to the late Queen. "I love you too, Dad. Don't worry, we'll be fine."

"I'll send a few more fighters with you, and-"

"Dad!" Stiles turned so he was in front of his father, grabbing Dad's arms and looking him straight in the eye. "We agreed that we shouldn't send anyone more than we really need to. King Peter could be up to something and we need everyone else to defend Beacon Hills if he decides to go for this ridiculous war. I'll be fine."

Dad looked at Stiles for a long time, bringing his hand up and patting Stiles' shoulder soundly. "I wish your mother was here to see you like this."

Stiles wasn't sure how to respond, so he nodded as he swallowed nervously. He wasn't sure who initiated the hug, but it happened all of a sudden and it didn't last quite long enough. "Anyway, we should go while we've got the light."

It was Stiles who pulled away from the hug first, but Dad let go without much hesitation. Clearing his throat, Dad said, "Stick to the main highways. Don't push the horses."

"I know, Dad," Stiles insisted, giving his father one last look before heading to his horse. Very aware of how many people were watching, Stiles made absolutely sure his muscles were ready before he attempted his climb up onto his horse. Falling on his ass in front of everyone would not be a good omen for the rest of this journey.

Once up on his mount, Stiles nodded to Allison and asked Scott, "Ready?"

"Ready," Allison replied, leading the way through the gates of the keep and out onto the road. 

"I think we'd better follow the lady," Scott said with a grin, which made Stiles laugh. 

Stiles paused once to turn back and wave at his father, and then at Deaton, who he noticed in the crowd. At the sight of his wizard mentor, Stiles noticed the itching of his week-old tattoo again. However, he determinedly didn't scratch at it until he was safely out of view of everyone in the keep. 

Instead, Stiles focused on the unsettling feeling of letting go of the ley line below the keep, while simultaneously reaching for the next one over – the one underneath the village itself. While he'd practiced the hand-off at least every other day as he went out and about his business, Stiles couldn't help but feel anxious this time. He thought it must have been knowing that it wouldn't be mere hours, or even mere days, before he was able to grasp his home line again. Stiles would be running on unfamiliar magics for the foreseeable future. A corner of his brain doubted he'd be able to use that magic for the least of spells, not to mention the ones that could save his life in the event of bandits and theives.

Stiles made the hand-off and then decided he needed to focus on something other than the off-pitch hum of the magic through his mind. What better to focus on than the all-consuming itch on his wrist? As soon as he and his friends rounded the corner in the road, Stiles cried, "Oh, gods!" and started scratching like a man possessed.

"You alright?" Scott asked, catching up to ride side-by-side with Stiles. "How come yours itches so much? I barely felt mine the next day." Scott put his hand on his sleeve, just over the set of rings Stiles had tattooed on his upper arm.

"Well, maybe because you're a werewolf," Stiles replied, pushing Scott's shoulder. "If I were to punch you as hard as I could, you wouldn't even bruise. Actually, one of Deaton's books said you could probably even grow back a limb if it got chopped off."

"Wanna test that theory?" Allison called over her shoulder, her cheeks high with a grin. "I brought some knives with me!"

"We're not cutting off any...appendages!" Scott called back, giving a woman walking the other way down the road a polite nod.

In a low voice, Stiles asked Scott, "You're sure she's the one for you, huh?"

Scott got that dreamy, open look he always had whenever anyone mentioned Allison. "Yeah…"

Laughing, Stiles rolled his eyes. When he was younger, he was sure Lady Lydia, from Martin province, was his true love. Then, during a ball thrown by her parents, Lydia kissed him. Of course, she was trying to make her suitor, Sir Jackson Whittemore, jealous, but Stiles didn't know that at the time. All he knew was that the kiss wasn't anything like his fantasies had been beforehand. Stiles realized that his fantasies about love were childish and useless, yet he couldn't bring himself to ruin Scott's joy in pursuing his own lady love.

Two hours down the road, they left Stilinski lands and entered the next county over. Stiles had been this far away from home a few times in his life, and even farther on two occasions (one occasion had been happy, while the other had been drowned in grief). This trip across the country to the capital city of Beacon would be the farthest he'd ever been from home. To be honest, Stiles was looking forward to it. 

He and his companions just had to make it there first.

They ran into their first royal patrol near dusk, as they approached a small city called Greenberg. "Halt," said a tall man with dark skin and very closely-cropped hair. A blonde woman stood beside him, her lips stained bright red. Yellow hair flowed out from under her crested helmet. She grinned and hefted her spear as the man asked, "What is your business in the city?"

"Just lodging for the night," Allison said. She nodded back at Stiles. "My liege, Lord Stilinski, is on a political mission to Beacon."

"Stilinski, huh?" the woman asked, circling around the three of them. Somehow, even though she was on foot and they were on horses, she still managed to make Stiles feel intimidated. "The elder Lord's only son." Pointing at her partner with her spear, she addressed Stiles, "We can't make any exceptions, even for a little Lord. No werewolves allowed inside the keep walls."

"There are no werewolves among us," Allison replied. "Do your detection spell and see."

Stiles took a long breath through his nose. Of course, Stiles tested the spell etched into Scott's skin with Scott's tattoo, and Deaton had as well. However, it had yet to be tested by someone outside Stilinski walls. If they found Scott out as a werewolf, their journey would be over before it started. No, the spell would work. It had to work. Stiles couldn't let his dad down now.

The man pulled a crystal on a chain from around his neck. He let the crystal hang down as he chanted a few words. The crystal lit up, a lilac-colored flame burning within it, and it swung around on its chain like a pendulum clock. After a moment, it came to rest, pointing straight down. "They're clean."

"Damn," the woman said, running her tongue over her upper teeth. "Is it so much to ask for a little fun now and then?"

As the man returned the crystal to its place around his neck, he pulled aside his leather armor for a moment, revealing what looked like a small spiral-shaped tattoo. However, in the waning light and against the hue of his skin, Stiles couldn't be sure. If it was true, and the man's tattoo was hiding his true nature from detection, the hypocrisy of the situation didn't surprise Stiles in the least.

Stilinski land may have been far flung from Beacon and all the political dealings that happened in the capital, but that didn't mean Lord Stilinski's son was ignorant of how King Peter ran his government. Stiles knew that everything wasn't what it seemed. Actually, it made a twisted sort of sense. Who better to "protect" the citizens from werewolves, than werewolves? Stiles himself had brought a werewolf on his journey, as his best means of protection (as well as his closest friend). 

"So, we're free to go find our lodgings, then?" Allison asked, her face unimpressed by the soldiers' actions. Though Allison wasn't a werewolf, she had more than enough bravery to spare, not to mention the skill she possessed to back up that bravery. Stiles had told the truth when he told his father he hadn't necessarily chosen Scott and Allison because they were his closest friends. That was part of the reason, of course, but they were the two most qualified people in the township to get Stiles where he needed to be unmolested. 

"You're free to go," the man agreed, nodding at the woman until she stepped aside. Allison lead the way into the city and Stiles stopped holding his anxious breath when they were a good distance away.

He held his tongue even longer, still under the suspicion that at least one of the soldiers at the gate, if not both, were werewolves, capable of hearing sounds at much longer distances than normal people were able. Eventually he did murmur to Scott, "I'm so glad that worked. I wasn't sure for a second."

"You're a good wizard," Scott insisted, pulling on his reins as Allison stopped her horse next to an Inn. "Looks like we're here."

"We're here," Allison agreed, leaping down from her horse and giving her reins to the stable girl. "Your master should be expecting us," Allison told the girl. "We sent a missive last week."

"Oh, the special guests," the girl said with a grin and a sassy salute. "Yeah, he's expecting you."

Once they were settled down, Stiles and Scott in one room, with Allison in the next room over, Stiles lay in bed looking up at the ceiling. One day down, about ten more to go before they reached Beacon. 

~*~

In the morning, the Innkeeper served them porridge. It tasted different from what Stiles was used to, but he knew better than to say so where the cook could hear him. And it wasn't _bad_ per se, just different. And unsettling. Stiles told himself to get over it. This journey was going to be filled with new experiences, and a little funny-tasting porridge was only the start.

Allison dropped down onto the bench next to Stiles, her own bowl of porridge in her hands. "Where's Scott?"

"Still asleep," Stiles told her. "You know how he's more of a night person. What with _the moon_ and all."

Allison smacked Stiles' arm, but she laughed too, which Stiles counted as a success. "We have to get moving if we're going to make Finstock by nightfall."

"You should go wake him," Stiles insisted, shoveling another spoonful of porridge into his mouth. "Last time I tried, he almost took out an eye."

"Yeah, that makes me _so_ eager to go up there." Allison looked around at the other travelers, eyeing each one in turn. Lowering her voice, she said, "You should be careful. Those guards yesterday…" She widened her eyes meaningfully.

"Yeah, I thought so too," he replied, sure that if Stiles had suspected them as werewolves, Allison had as well. She was the one trained to recognize that sort of thing, after all. "My lips are sealed."

"I'll go wake Scott, you settle with the innkeeper."

As Allison escaped, Stiles almost called out to her what a bad idea it was having him in charge of most of the money, even if it was his father's money. Stiles bit his tongue instead. Advertising all the coins he had lining his pockets wasn't going to do him any favors in keeping that money safe from thieves.

So maybe Stiles wasn't as prepared for independent travel as he might have thought before leaving the keep yesterday. That didn't mean he was incapable. He just had to keep his wits about him and keep his tether to the magical threads below his feet as strong as possible. A wizard was only as good as their ability to think quickly and act without hesitation. 

A growl in his ear made Stiles jump, pulling those threads in tighter. He whirled around to find Scott standing behind him, grinning. Stiles punched him in the arm. "I'm gonna accidentally set you on fire or something if you keep doing that!"

"Come on, it was funny!"

"For _you_!" After rolling his eyes, Stiles smirked. "Do it to Allison next!"

"No way!" Scott's gaze followed Allison as she approached. He moved to keep Stiles between them and hissed in Stiles' ear. "She'd stab me!"

"And I wouldn't?" Stiles couldn't help but laugh at Scott's wide eyes.

"She'd stab me harder."

Stiles shrugged. "Yeah, that's probably true."

Allison tossed a bag to Scott and asked, "Ready?"

"If I said no, would you beat me?" Stiles asked with a grin, taking his change from the bar top and stowing it in the small pouch he kept on a string around his neck. The most visible of his money holds, it held only low-value coins, sort of a bait for any snatch-purses so that they wouldn't go looking for the larger amounts.

The sunlight crested bright over the hills to the east as the three of them headed for the next town, and then the next and then the next after that. The brightness of the light made Stiles feel more hopeful than the porridge. "You know," he said to his companions, Allison riding slightly ahead and Scott at his side, "I bet I could come up with a spell that could get us there faster."

Over her shoulder, Allison said, "That sleeping spell ought to do. One minute you're on the road, the next, Scott and I have dragged you the rest of the way, and you wake up in Beacon. Highly refreshed."

"You're a genius!" Stiles urged his horse faster so he could ride next to her. "I mean, Deaton slept for almost a week when I accidentally hit him with the spell. That's more than enough time to get halfway from Stilinski to Beacon."

Once out on the road, Scott asked, "So did your father tell you what he wrote in his letter to the king?"

"Well, yeah." They were alone on the road, so Stiles felt comfortable saying the secret out loud. "There's not enough proof against Argent to justify moving the soldiers away from our border."

"I swear, I didn't try to convince him," Allison insisted, her jaw set tightly. Stiles noticed she didn't protest her father's innocence in the matter. "And you both know that I'd be first in line to kill my grandfather if he had been responsible for the Queen's murder, but the evidence just isn't there."

Scott nodded solemnly. "I hope King Peter takes the news well. I've heard he can be unpredictable."

"Hey, maybe he'll give me a medal!" Stiles joked, letting one line of magic let go as they left it behind and grabbing the next one tightly. 

Stiles had asked Deaton what would happen if the lines ever got so far apart that he was without one. Deaton muttered something about inner strength and then changed the subject. The last time Stiles had traveled further away than the country house at the edge of Stilinski lands, he hadn't yet been able to see the lines, much less grasp them. Traveling this far felt like balancing on thin planks above a vast chasm and having to jump from one to the next without falling, and without a net below.

"Hey," Scott said after a moment of silence. "Maybe you'll meet someone in the capital."

Allison grinned at Stiles and poked him in the ribs. "Oooh, I bet you do. Girls go wild after a guy from the other side of the country." Scott's face fell and Allison must have seen it, because she quickly added, "Or the guy next door. He's very interesting, too."

Hiding his laugh in a cough, Stiles urged his horse forward, giving the two lovebirds some space. Maybe it would be nice finding someone in the city. Everyone in Stilinski knew him as the Lord's awkward son, who was more interested in magic than in combat or learning how to lead. Truth be told, Stiles spent a lot of his time reading about history and about what past leaders had done. As the only child of a landed lord, Stiles was acutely aware of his duty, but that didn't mean he had to go about it in the same ways as everyone else.

The one time Stiles had tried to learn fencing, he'd almost taken Harris' eye out. Now the weapons instructor had it in for Stiles in a major way. Was it any wonder that he'd retreated even more into books and Deaton's brand of wizardry?

Stiles let himself daydream about the girl he'd meet in Beacon. He wondered if she'd be smart. He wondered if she'd accept the fact that Stiles was weird and couldn't swing a sword to save his life, even if he could cast a spell to greater effect. He wondered if she would mind the tattoo on his wrist, when Stiles couldn't even tell her what it meant, just that it was important somehow. Stiles wondered if she'd be pretty.

~*~

"Don't get lost, she says," Stiles muttered to himself, wandering alone around the market district of Finstock. "We'll be right back, she says. You guys are probably off making out somewhere, aren't you?" 

Alone, Stiles took the next turn, thinking it had to be the road that went back to their inn and their horses. Instead, he ended up in a dead-end alley. "Great." Looking up, he could see that the sun was almost overhead. Man, they were going to have to camp out tonight, weren't they? There was no way they could make it all the way to Morrell by dusk. "Fantastic."

Stiles turned around, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow, and readjusted the pack on his back. "Oh, you'll only have to carry the food for a few minutes, Stiles, he says." Stiles scoffed and headed back the way he came. Shouting on the main road ahead caught Stiles' interest, so he looked up just in time to see a man turn into the alley. He was bare-chested and he jumped over a set of barrels and then passed Stiles, just a little too quickly. 

Turning to watch the man find out that the alley lead only to a stone wall and several locked doors, Stiles saw his back and gasped. Contrasting sharply with his pale skin, the tattoo on the man's back was a perfect recreation of the tattoo on Stiles' wrist. The man's tattoo was about ten times bigger than Stiles', spanning the distance between his shoulder blades and ending just below the back of his neck. "What the…?"

The man hit the edge of the alley and jumped twice his height into the air. His fingers brushed the top edge of the wall, but when he didn't gain purchase, he fell back down into a crouch. He turned, still crouching low, and met Stiles' eyes. The man's eyes widened, like he hadn't seen Stiles the first time he'd passed him. And then the man rushed toward Stiles.

Stiles recognized a werewolf when he saw one. Hell, his best friend in the world was a werewolf, bitten by some rogue a few years back. Stiles knew intimately what a werewolf was capable of. He also knew that a lot of the stories about werewolves were true. Stiles thought about running for it, getting out into the public where this werewolf wouldn't dare hurt him for fear of being caught by the guards. Stiles turned to run, but the mystery of the man's tattoo stopped him. 

The werewolf caught up and practically slammed Stiles into the alley wall. "You," he growled, his eyes flashing blue with this creepy inner light. "You're going to help me."

"Or what?" Stiles asked, unfolding the werewolf's still-human fingers from where they gripped his cloak. 

Taking half a step back, which gave Stiles a little room to breathe, the werewolf furrowed his brows at Stiles. Raising one, he replied, “Or the guards are gonna kill me.”

“What’d you do?”

“Nothing!” he cried, before eyeing the alley’s mouth and lowering his voice. “Nothing, I swear. I’m just ... some very powerful people are looking for me.” He gave Stiles a once-over. “You look well-off. If you could just tell the guards that I’m your servant or something, I’d be in your debt.”

Stiles wanted to ask what the man’s debt was worth, exactly, but before he could, a guard paused at the alleyway entrance. “Hey, is that him?”

Under his breath, Stiles told the werewolf, “Get behind me and don’t say a word. I’ve got this under control.”

Following orders without hesitation, the werewolf stepped behind Stiles, even going so far as to bow his head. Another guard joined the first and together, swords drawn, they approached Stiles and the werewolf. The new one told the other, “What? The big one in the back? I don’t know. Doesn’t really look like his picture.”

“Hello, officer!” Stiles said, making his tone as bright as possible. It always got him out of trouble with the guards at home. Then again, he was the Lord’s son. The guards wouldn’t give him too much trouble to begin with. “Who are you looking for?”

“Fugitive,” the first guard said, tilting her head back to get a better look at Stiles and his companion. “Goes by the name of Derek Green. Wanted for thievery and trespassing.”

“Well, that’s definitely not me.” Stiles pointed to his chest and rolled his eyes. Then he stepped aside and gestured to the man behind him, “And it’s not ... Miguel, here. He’s been with me almost as long as I can remember.”

Warily, the second guard asked, “Slave?”

“Indentured, actually. My father, Lord Stilinski, took on his bond after his parents died in the same sickness that took my mother. You remember the horrible cough that struck us ten years ago?”

The first guard pursed her lips at Stiles in a way that made him strengthen his hold on the mage line running through the city. She sourly asked, “How come he ran?” “He’s just like that. Bit of a scaredy cat.” The werewolf growled softly under his breath, like he was insulted. It made Stiles grin and want to pat him on the shoulder. Though like with wild animals, Stiles knew it was important to keep one’s hands to oneself around strange werewolves.

She fired another question. “Do you have papers proving he’s who you say he is?”

“I have something better,” Stiles said, pulling up his left sleeve and showing the guard his tattoo. “The mark of my house. You’ll see Miguel has the same symbol on his back.” Stiles nodded to the werewolf, who’s eyes widened before he shut down the expression with a frown. His frown deepened when Stiles made a twirling motion with his finger, but ultimately the werewolf turned his back on the guards, his head craned around to keep one eye fixed on them. “See? He’s mine.”

“Apologies, Master Stilinski,” the second guard said, pulling on his compatriot’s arm. “He must not be the fugitive we’re looking for. Thank you for the cooperation.”

“No problem!” Stiles replied, the tension in his shoulders easing as the guards backed away. “Keep doing a great job ensuring the safety of the citizens!”

The first guard waved once, and then they were gone. Stiles turned to face the werewolf. “Looks like that debt is mine!”

Without responding, the werewolf grabbed Stiles’ arm and pulled it toward him, pushing back Stiles’ sleeve at the same time. “Where did you get this?”

“Ow!” Stiles tried pulling back against the werewolf’s grip, but he was too strong. “I made it myself. Happy?”

Growling, the werewolf demanded, “The _symbol_ , idiot! Who showed you this?”

Stiles closed his eyes and pulled at the mage line, letting the magic out as a few bright bursts of light right between his face and the werewolf’s. The werewolf let go. 

Rubbing his hand where he’d been grabbed, Stiles explained, “I’m a wizard, alright? I had my vision a few days ago, and it told me to get the tattoo.” Stiles watched the werewolf shake his head and blink for a moment before he glared up at Stiles. He didn’t try to grab Stiles again, which Stiles took as a good sign he was ready to talk like a normal person. “Why? What does it mean?”

“ _Everything_ ,” the werewolf replied. “It’s my family’s secret symbol. No one but us knows about it.”

“I hate to break it to you, friend, but everyone in town just saw you running around with your shirt off.” Stiles couldn’t help but take another peak at the werewolf’s athletic physique. His muscles were even more defined than Scott’s, and more defined than most of the male soldiers in his father’s army. “Don’t think it’s quite so secret anymore.”

Turning away so his side faced Stiles, the man said, “I wasn’t supposed to be without my shirt. One of the guards ripped it off when they jumped me.”

“So, is your name Derek Green?” Stiles asked. “Did you really do all those things they’re after you for?”

“It’s my name for now,” he replied, wrapping his arms around himself, and forgoing any further reply. 

Stiles felt kind of bad for him, so he set down his bag, shed his cloak, and unbuttoned his vest.

Quirking one eyebrow at Stiles, Derek asked, “What are you doing?”

“Obviously, I’m giving you my shirt. It might be a little tight on those big shoulders of yours, but I like my clothes a little loose.”

The bewildered look on Derek’s face made Stiles chuckle.

“Hey, I’m just protecting my investment, right?” Stiles told him, shedding his unbuttoned vest and pulling his shirt over his head. He handed the garment to Derek and slipped the vest back on. Stiles buttoned it up as he continued. “I mean, what good is owning a debt if the debtor can’t pay it back? If the guards are looking for a guy with no shirt and a big, swirly tattoo...”

"Got it," Derek said, pulling the shirt over his head. It did fit tightly and Stiles had to admit to himself that he was a little _too_ interested in the stretch of the fabric over Derek's arms. The sight gave Stiles a fluttery feeling in his stomach.

After Derek got the shirt settled, he looked over at Stiles, who realized he'd been staring. Quickly, he went back to buttoning his vest and settling his cloak over his bare arms. When he looked up again, Derek was still watching him expectantly. "What?"

"How do I repay my debt? I need to leave this place as soon as possible."

"Yeah, no kidding." Derek rolled his eyes, which made Stiles huff in annoyance. "Look, my companions and I are leaving town as soon as we get back to our horses. Maybe you should come with us?"

"I don't have a horse," Derek said, pulling on the hem of the shirt. "I'd steal one, but they don't like me very much."

"Because you're a," Stiles leaned closer and mouthed, "werewolf?"

Derek frowned and clenched his jaw so hard, it looked like he would break a tooth. "How did you know?"

"Besides the way you tried to jump over that wall back there?" Stiles asked, pointing at the end of the alley.

Derek huffed, crossing his big arms over his chest. Stiles laughed. 

"My best friend is the same. Don't worry. I'm not gonna turn you in or anything. In fact, I know this spell that'll hide you from detection." Stiles smirked. "Of course, then you'd owe me another favor."

"Let's just _go_." Derek shooed Stiles toward the main road. "Where are your companions? How do we get to them?"

With an awkward laugh, Stiles replied, "Yeah. About that. I was kind of lost when I ended up here, so—"

"Stiles!" Scott called from across the road, hurrying over to him. "There you are! Allison wanted to leave, like an hour ago!"

"I got lost, alright?" Stiles cried, watching as Scott got his feathers ruffled when Derek didn't prove to be a passerby. Stiles said, "This is Miguel, my manservant. He'll be joining us on our travels."

Scott rolled his eyes and turned around with a loud scoff.

Stiles followed, crying, "What? It was a thing! You had to be there."

"If you want him to come, you'll need to buy him a horse. We're going to run a whole day behind."

In a lower voice, even though Scott could still hear if he wanted to, Stiles asked Derek, "It's for a good cause, right? I mean, you're a good person."

"Not particularly." Stiles rolled his eyes and let out a sharp huff. "Really? Because back there you could have threatened me. You could have said that if I didn't help you, you'd rip my throat out, but you _asked_."

Mouth slightly open and brows furrowed, Derek stared at Stiles for a long moment, like he was completely floored by Stiles' observation. 

"Besides, I'm _obviously_ supposed to help you. Why else would my vision tell me to get this tattoo?" Stiles smugly hooked his thumbs in his belt.

Opening and closing his mouth a few times, Derek eventually said, "Fine. I'll let you help me out of the city, but we go our separate ways after that."

Stiles wanted to insist that they'd go their separate ways once he figured out the purpose of his vision, but he didn't want to press his luck. Instead, he waved Derek forward and said, "C'mon. Let's catch up before Scott gets too far ahead and I get lost again."

Derek followed, jostling a man with his shoulder when the gap between Stiles and the oncoming pedestrians narrowed. In a low voice, he said to Stiles, "I thought wizards were supposed to be intelligent."

Stiles couldn't help but laugh, despite the insult. "And I thought your people were supposed to be mean and surly. Oh, wait!"

Derek huffed, but his frown softened ever so slightly. Stiles counted it as a victory.

On the way back to the Inn, Stiles stopped at a pastry cart, bought one each for himself, Allison, Scott, and Derek, and asked the young lady running the booth where he could buy a horse. She batted her eyelids (which was a new experience for Stiles; none of the girls at home ever batted their eyelids at him) and told Stiles, "Oh, there's a horse trader just outside town, to the east."

"See," Stiles said to Scott as he doled out the pastries, giving Allison's to Scott. "The horse trader is on the way. We'll camp out tonight. It'll be fine."

Stiles tried to give Derek his pastry, but the man shook his head and refused to accept it.

"Just take the damn pastry."

"I'm already indebted to you twice over," Derek said with a scowl. "I won't make it a third."

While Stiles had to admire Derek's sense of honor, his reluctance to take the pastry was a little frustrating. Stiles made a show of polishing off his pastry first and then taking a huge bite of Derek's. Derek frowned, his footsteps falling heavier, and Scott elbowed Stiles in the ribs, giving a slight shake of his head.

Scott was probably right. It annoyed Stiles how often Scott was right about something. He especially had a knack for reading people, which Stiles wasn't quite as good at unless he had a very good reason to study someone's behavior.

Stiles stowed the other half of Derek's pastry in an oiled cloth and slipped it into his satchel. Maybe Derek would feel more like being indebted later.

The moment Allison noticed them approaching the Inn, her hands flew to her hips. Her expression darkened the closer they came. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Who's this?" Allison asked when they got close enough for words. 

"This–" Derek started to say, but Stiles cut him off.

"This is Miguel, or more accurately Derek Green, and he's coming with us."

"What?" Allison cried before lowering her voice and pulling Stiles aside. Scott came with him. "The fugitive all the guards in town are looking for? _Stiles_!"

"You don't understand, Allison. He's got this mark." Stiles pulled his cloak away from his wrist. "Why would I have a vision if we were never meant to act on it?"

"Because your 'vision' was the product of those crazy herbs Deaton had you take and the fact that you found someone else with the same simple symbol tattooed on them is pure coincidence." As Allison finished speaking, she crossed her arms over her chest and raised one eyebrow.

Stiles gasped and put a hand to his chest. "You did not just say that to me, Allison!"

"I did say that." She smirked.

"But–but it's not just some coincidence! And it's not like you don't believe in magic. You've seen what Deaton and I can do! You–" Stiles leaned closer and said in a low voice. "You know what Scott is."

"Just because you have magic," Allison countered, "doesn't make one bad dream prophetic. He'll slow us down. How are we supposed to make it all the way to Beacon with a," this time Allison dropped her voice, " _fugitive_ in our group? How do you expect the King to take you and your message seriously?"

Stiles gaped. "You...actually have a really good point. I mean, not about the vision stuff. You're way off there, but about the fugitive thing."

"We could," Scott said, pausing to look Derek up and down, "give him a disguise. Like a wig or something, so no one recognizes him."

"I'm not wearing a wig." Derek practically stomped his foot, which made Stiles smile in amusement. 

Then he had an idea. "A disguise, yes, but not a wig. I'll make you a magical disguise. C'mon, let's get out of the city first. I need to think about how to make you look."

Derek growled under his breath, but loud enough that Stiles, and probably Scott, could hear.

"Fine," said Allison, handing Stiles the reins to his horse. "But don't say I didn't warn you." Stiles took the reins and gave his horse a few good pats. Raised voices tended to make her nervous. "Noted. Thank you, Allison!"

Allison and Scott rode their horses, breaking the crowd as they moved out of the city, Scott leading them east, toward the horse trader. Stiles started walking beside Derek, but the man stopped him. "I'll look more like your servant if you ride."

Stiles wanted to argue that he'd been riding for two days before this and his ass could use a rest, but he knew deception was the more urgent goal than his comfort. "No, you're right. Lemme just..." 

Again, Stiles rehearsed how he was going to get up onto his horse before he did it. This time, he caught Derek watching as he finally heaved himself up, which meant Stiles lost his footing and fell back onto the ground. Glad he hadn't fallen on his ass, Stiles told himself to stop thinking so hard and got up on his horse before Derek could do something even more humiliating than chuckle at him – like try to help.

~*~

Buying Derek a horse didn't take terribly long - though it did take more money than Stiles wanted to part with - and the four of them left Finstock mid afternoon. About an hour out of town, on a forested road in the middle of nowhere, Derek cleared his throat, like he wanted to say something, so Stiles gave the man most of his attention.

Derek snapped his mouth shut.

"Oh, for the love of–" Stiles sighed. "What were you going to say, wolf boy?"

Scott turned around, practically pulling his horse into Allison's before he loosened his reins. "What?"

"Not you," Stiles cried, waving at Scott to turn around and mind his own business. A lesser friend would have pressed the matter, but Scott shrugged and turned back around instead. " _Derek_. What were you going to say?"

Derek gave Stiles another one of his sidelong glares, but after Stiles raised his eyebrows up as far as they could comfortably go, he said, "I know a place we could sleep. Since we're not going to make it to the next inn before nightfall."

"Oh, you've been this way before?" Stiles asked, wondering if Derek was trying to work off his debts sooner rather than later, or if he was leading them into some sort of trap. He was a fugitive, after all. Maybe mystical tattoos of fate didn't mean as much to Derek as they did to Stiles. 

"Yeah." Stiles waited for Derek to elaborate, but he stayed silent for the next few minutes. When he finally did speak, he asked, "Can you actually disguise me?"

"Would you actually be able to tell Scott was a werewolf if I hadn't told you?" Stiles countered, leading his horse around a tree in the middle of the path.

Derek steered his horse the other way, his brows deeply furrowed. He gave Scott's back a stare so intense that it looked like he might be trying to start Scott on fire with his mind. When he finished staring, Derek turned to Stiles with wide eyes. "How did you do that?"

Shrugging, Stiles replied, "Spell. Had to weave the spell into his skin to get it to work that well. Took me a hell of a long time to figure it out, but I did it."

Calling back over her shoulder, Allison told Derek with a mischievous grin, "His master, Wizard Deaton, was the one who figured it out."

"Well, okay, yeah. Sure." Stiles glared at Allison's back. "Deaton found the last piece of the puzzle, but _I_ did the spell. Not bad for a country Lord's son, hey?"

"You know Deaton?" Derek asked, pulling his horse to a stop so fiercely that she whinnied and danced around the trail before coming to a halt.

"Uh, yeah," Stiles replied, turning is horse around so he could pull up next to Derek and see his face close-up. Derek's eyes were so wide that Stiles feared for his sanity. "Why?"

"Where did you find him? Where has he been this whole time?" Derek turned his horse, heading back the way they came until Stiles urged his horse ahead and cut him off.

"He's been in Stilinski for the past, what? Eight years? He's our medicine wizard. Where are you going?"

"My sister and I have been–`" Derek said before cutting himself off.

Frustrated with almost getting a glimpse into Derek's motivations, Stiles cried, "What? Your sister and you have been what? When did you get a sister?"

"When I was born," Derek shot back dryly. "Now, get out of the way. I have to go to Stilinski."

Feeling an urgency he didn't quite understand behind the need to keep Derek with him, Stiles cried, "Well, I have to go to Beacon and that's my horse, and I'm wearing _your_ mark, and you're never going to make it far with the face you're still wearing, so…"

Flashing knife-sharp teeth at Stiles and accompanying them with a blood-chilling roar, Derek growled, "Get out of my way, wizard."

Stiles may have peed his pants a little, but he stood his ground. "Not a chance, werewolf. Either we're both going to Beacon, or you and I are going to stay right here until I figure out why I had a vision about you."

Derek seethed in place, but he didn't move.

"Why is Deaton so important to you, anyway?" Scott asked, his voice gentle, like when he would talk to the injured animals he was always bringing to Deaton. "He's just a medicine man."

Through gritted teeth, Derek said, "No reason." Then he turned his horse around and rode it east, eyes steadfastly forward. 

Wait. Did Stiles just stare down a strange werewolf and _win_? To be honest, he was banking on having Scott and Allison there to bail him out if Derek had actually attacked him. Sure, Stiles knew magic and he knew how to create a distraction, but he didn't know much in the way of spells that could actually do a person harm. 

Sharing a surprised look with Scott, Stiles followed Derek through the woods. Stiles found himself even more amazed when an hour later, just as the sun began to set, Derek lead them a few dozen yards off the road to an abandoned barn. They spent the night, but Stiles got Scott and Allison to take shifts watching Derek for him. Derek didn't try to run.

~*~

Getting going in the morning was a silent affair, which really threw Stiles off. He was used to talking, if not a lot, then at least some. Especially with Scott there. The tense atmosphere cooled all of Stiles' intentions toward starting a conversation with any of his travel companions. Derek still seemed infuriated with Stiles; Allison had one eye on Derek at all times, like he might try to kill Stiles while she wasn't watching; and Scott kept giving Stiles these sad little shakes of his head whenever Stiles tried to say something.

Mid-morning, while they were taking a break at a river to water the horses, Stiles finally cracked. "Would somebody _please_ say something? I'm going out of my damn mind!"

"Let me leave," Derek replied, stepping close to Stiles, like he was trying to loom over Stiles, even though they were of a height. "And you and your friends will be able to talk all you like."

"What about the debt you owe me?"

"I'd say being kept prisoner for a day fulfills that debt."

"Oh, my god! Fine! We'll figure this out right now. What does this symbol," Stiles pulled back his sleeve and pointed at his wrist, "actually mean? Why are there three spirals? Does it represent some sort of Green family motto? ' _I came, I saw, I was an asshole_ '?"

"It's called a triskele and Green is not my name," Derek said through gritted teeth, poking Stiles in the shoulder with one finger. 

Stiles didn't mean to stumble back, but he hadn't been expecting the blow, and the way Derek's eyes went wide meant he didn't mean to push Stiles that hard. Stiles shuffled back a few feet, but before he could regain his balance, his heels hit a log and he tipped backward over it.

Stiles plunged into the river, the back of his left leg slamming into a rock just before his head went under. Stiles' hands found the bottom of the river before his head could, and he pushed off, trying to get upright. The river was only just over waist deep at the edge, but by the time Stiles surfaced, he was twenty feet away from shore, in over his head, and heading downstream quickly. 

Always a strong swimmer, Stiles did what came naturally and began swimming for shore. He spotted Scott and Allison running along the riverside, fighting their way through underbrush, but he didn't see Derek. The damn werewolf was probably taking this opportunity to make a break for it, nevermind that Stiles' life was in danger.

Furious, Stiles pulled himself through the water toward shore. Muffled screaming hit his ears when he'd struggled to about ten feet from the bank of the river. Looking up, Stiles saw Allison pointing excitedly downstream. He turned himself to look, but beyond a certain point, he couldn't see any more of the river. He did see a few treetops beyond, but—

Wait. Tree _tops_? He couldn't see any more of the river because there was a big fucking drop off coming up! More urgent than ever, Stiles swam toward the shore (and a little bit upstream, as best he could). He even chanted a quick spell to make the water flow more easily around him, but the drop off approached too quickly. Stiles didn't have enough magic to stop the whole river!

Sure he wasn't going to make it, Stiles kept swimming anyway. The edge of the waterfall approached and Stiles scrabbled his fingertips against the stone riverbank, unable to find something to hold onto. No crevices, no outcroppings, no convenient tree roots. 

Stiles' feet went over the edge of the waterfall just as a strong hand wrapped around his wrist. 

Stiles grabbed onto his savior's arm with both hands and helped get himself back onto shore.

Heaving and coughing out two lungfuls of water, Stiles took a moment to kiss dry land and thank the gods he was alive. When he looked up, he saw that it wasn't Scott who had pulled him out of the river. 

It wasn't even Allison.

"You saved me," Stiles said to Derek, shivering now that his life wasn't in danger and he could notice how cold he was. "You didn't have to do that."

"I couldn't just let you _drown_ ," Derek insisted. "I didn't mean to push you that hard."

"Oh, gods, Stiles!" Scott cried, crashing through the underbrush and enveloping Stiles in a tight hug. "I thought you were gonna die."

Squeezing Scott in return, Stiles replied, "I kinda thought so too." He returned Scott's embrace, and caught Derek watching them, his brows pinched together morosely.

For the time being, Stiles ignored him. He let Allison hug him and then let Scott help him back onto the trail that lead to their horses. Stiles noticed that Derek followed them back silently.

He could have used Stiles' tumble into the river as a distraction and escaped. He could have taken everything with him, all the horses, while Scott and Allison tried to rescue Stiles from the river. 

Derek didn't go anywhere. He saved Stiles instead. That meant he had to had some shred of a conscious, right?Either that, or the draw of Stiles' promised spell was too great for Derek to ignore.

But what was to keep Derek from taking his new face and abandoning Stiles? If he looked like someone else, he could go anywhere unhindered. He could go back to Stilinski and find Deaton. Stiles didn't even know Derek's intentions with Deaton. Maybe Derek wanted to _kill_ Deaton! Stiles couldn't let that happen to his mentor. 

But he also couldn't let Derek keep his current face. The next time they passed through town, someone would recognize him and take him away. Even if Stiles' family influence kept him and Scott and Allison out of trouble, there was no way he could pull off another "Miguel" misdirection. 

So how could Stiles give Derek a disguise and simultaneously keep him with Stiles? It would have to— It would have to be a disguise that only worked while Derek was near Stiles! Stiles was a genius!

But how would it work?

All the spells Stiles knew for disguising identity had to be etched into skin. Maybe it didn't have to be Derek's skin. Deaton liked to say that all you needed was to believe in something hard enough that you made it happen. Well, and sometimes you needed the right ingredients, too.

Stiles knew what he was going to do.

The next time they stopped, for a midday meal, Stiles rummaged through his bags, looking for the things he would need. Hopefully he hadn't forgotten anything at home. 

Allison approached him and sat down nearby, watching Scott light a small campfire that Derek helpfully added sticks to. "What are you looking for?"

"I'm doing the spell," Stiles replied, pulling the rowan tattoo needle out of its wrappings. Next he found the jar of ink and his spellbook. He knew changing someone's appearance could be tricky, but Stiles just had to remember it was an illusion, the same way hiding Scott's true scent from other werewolves was an illusion. Derek would still look the same under the illusion. Turning to Allison, Stiles told her, "I need some ferns."

She nodded and left, jumping nimbly through the forest as naturally as would a deer. No wonder Scott was attracted to chasing her. While she was gone and Derek and Scott were still busy with the fire, Stiles sat crosslegged on the forest and closed his eyes. Without looking, he opened the jar of ink and dipped his needle into it. Holding the needle out between his middle fingers, Stiles closed the ink jar and took a deep breath.

Drawing energy from the earth, and from the strength of his belief, Stiles pressed the sharp end of the needle into the middle of his tattoo, adding another drop of ink to what was already there. Into that drop of ink, he pulled strings of magic from the ley line beneath him and wove them into the beginnings of the spell. The rest of the spell would wait until Allison got back.

Stiles spent probably five minutes sitting with his eyes closed, layering magic over magic to make sure the spell would hold up against the most rigorous of detection spells - as long as Derek was close enough to Stiles for the effect to hold. At one point, Stiles heard Derek ask Scott what Stiles was doing. Scott replied, "Don't touch him. He's working a spell."

"What spell?"

"He'll tell us when he's ready."

Stiles let his lips twitch upward in a smirk. Trust Scott to have such faith in Stiles. Ever since Stiles went with his mother to medicine woman McCall's shop and met Scott, the two of them had been practically inseparable. Scott had been there every step of the way while Stiles' mother slipped further and further away, despite everything Melissa did to keep her alive. Scott was there when Stiles' mother finally died, and he hadn't gone anywhere in the many years since that night.

Stiles found himself weaving some of his love for Scott into the spell, so he stopped himself. It was too late to keep it from being part of the magical fabric without starting over. Stiles didn't want to have to pierce his skin again, so he left the spell as it was, reinforcing what the spell was meant to do, not what he'd almost let it become.

Eventually, Allison came back with the ferns, so Stiles renewed the hold on the spell as it was, and opened his eyes. "Thanks," he said, taking the plants from Allison when she handed them to him. She'd gathered three or four fronds of the same sort of fern. It wasn't the best type of fern for the spell, but it would do.

Stiles spread his cloak out in front of him, and held the ferns above it. "Hey," he called to Scott. "Bring me a flame, would you?"

"Sure." Scott brought a twig over, shielding the ember at the end with one hand. He handed the cool end to Stiles, who took it carefully and then held it to the bunch of ferns in his hand. 

As the bundle wilted, dried, and eventually started to burn, Stiles let the ashes fall onto his cloak. Once the pile was nice and seemed like enough to his Deaton-trained eye, Stiles set the unburned ferns and the kindling aside on the moist ground. Either they would go out or Allison or Scott would put them out. Stiles gestured to Derek, "Come here."

Warily, Derek moved forward, stopping about ten feet from Stiles. Stiles took out one of his little bowls and poured a few drops of ink into it. Then, he scooped up some of the fern ashes and mixed them with the ink, using the tattoo needle to stir. Looking up at Derek, he asked, "Got any requests for your new face?"

"No," Derek said, taking another step closer. "I didn't think you'd actually follow through."

"I made you a promise." Stiles gave Derek a wary smile. "Now, sit down and take off your shirt. Give me your back. This may hurt a little."

Scoffing and rolling his eyes, Derek pulled his shirt up over his head, turning his back to Stiles as he sat down. "Do what you need to do."

"Oh, I will." Stiles hated closing his eyes on the absolute work of art that was Derek's tattoo, but he had to visualize the magic as he weaved it if he was going to get this right. 

Stiles took the bowl of ink and the needle into his hands and poured his intent into the spell, bringing up as much magic from the ley line below him as he could manage. When he opened his eyes, everything looked brighter and sharper, more pungent in a way. It hurt to have his eyes open, but Stiles dealt with it, because he needed to see what he was doing as he pressed three new dots of ink, one each into the arms of the triskele on Derek's back.

The muscles under Stiles hand twitched as Stiles pressed the first mark in, but Derek didn't make a noise. Stiles pressed the second, then mixed up the remaining ink and pressed the third, setting the ink just below the skin. Then Stiles set down the ink and the needle and pressed his hand over the marks.

Derek's warm skin shifted again, but he kept himself still. Stiles' eyes slipped shut. The three new marks burned brightly behind his eyelids and Stiles pulled their magic into his spell, weaving it with that from the mark on his own skin.

Derek's werewolf nature wasn't easy to hide, but Stiles had done it before, so he finished that part of the spell quickly. It was giving Derek a new face that gave Stiles some trouble. He wasn't sure which face to choose. To make it look right, not like a badly-sewn puppet, Stiles knew he would have to use the face of someone he knew, and someone he knew well. He also had to use the face of someone who wouldn't arouse suspicion or be expected to have any authority. 

Smiling, Stiles chose the face he was going to use, weaving his memories into the final spell. With one last exhale, the spell was set and Stiles removed his hand from Derek's back, frowning as the cold air seeped into the space between his skin and Derek's. "There."

"It worked," Allison said, her arms crossed under her breasts as she stepped around Derek. "I'm not sure why you chose _Danny's_ face, but it worked."

Turning around as he pulled his shirt back on, Derek faced Stiles. When Derek's head popped out from inside the shirt, Stiles found himself surprised by how good the illusion was. "You look just like him."

"Like who?" Derek asked, his voice this weird blend between Danny's and his own. 

Stiles watched Scott's jaw drop open. "Oh, that's so weird." Scott made as if he was going to touch Derek, but a growl from Derek's throat stopped him. 

"Danny Mahealani," Stiles told Derek, suddenly chafing at the way Danny's face wasn't Derek's. "He's a bookkeeper's apprentice in Stilinski," Stiles explained, looking away and starting to gather his things. "Everybody loves him."

"Including Stiles," Scott sang with an impish grin. Allison chuckled. Stiles tried to ignore the way his face and ears heated up. He carefully cleaned the tattoo needle and wrapped it up before stowing the rest of his supplies. When he was done, Stiles got to his feet and approached Derek. "You–" Stiles said, his voice catching in his throat. Overcome by the need to confess what he'd done, Stiles tried to speak the truth, but it didn't happen. Instead, Stiles gave Derek only half of the warning he needed. "You should try not to shift. It'll break the illusion."

Derek nodded in response, his eyes fixed on Stiles' for just a fraction of a moment too long.

Clearing her throat, Allison said, "C'mon. Let's get going. We should be able to reach Whittemore by dusk."

Stiles watched as Derek helped Scott get camp packed up. Occasionally he would look at the back of his hand, frowning like he could tell it was wrong. Stiles didn't remember whether or not Danny had any moles or birthmarks on his hands, so maybe his illusion had erased the ones Derek already had.

Stiles got the strangest urge to break the spell and see whether Derek had marks on his hands. No. Derek needed to keep borrowing Danny's face until it was safe to go out in public as himself again. Either that or Stiles finally figured out the meaning of his vision and was able to give Derek back to his own devices.

~*~

As they were settling down in their room at the inn, Stiles asked Scott to go make sure Allison was set in her room (he kind of doubted Scott would come back that night). Then he turned to Derek, still surprised to see Danny in his place. "You're still here."

"I didn't mean to almost kill you today," Derek said, his eyes on a far-off corner of the wall.

Stiles sat down on his bed, leaning on the frame as he watched Danny's face grow much more morose than he'd ever seen it when Danny wore the visage. "I know. It was an accident."

Derek nodded. After a silent moment, he confessed, "I don't want to go to Beacon. I've been working my way through the country trying to leave that place, and you're bringing me right back into the belly of the beast."

"What beast?" Stiles asked with a snort. "And it's not like I'm going to Beacon for a pleasure cruise. I have to tell King Peter my father's response to his request for soldiers."

Derek hissed, his nostrils flaring.

"What?"

"Don't call him _that_." Derek spit with his vehemence. "Peter Hale doesn't deserve to be called _King_."

"Whoa, okay," Stiles said, standing up and approaching Derek before realizing that, even with a tight grasp on a ley line, approaching a pissed-off werewolf wasn't the greatest idea. "I mean, yeah, I agree with you, but your beef with him sounds _personal_."

Derek yanked back the covers from his cot and crawled in, laying with his back to Stiles. "I'm not going to talk about it."

Stiles wanted to point out that if Derek wasn't going to talk, it was just going to take that much longer to figure out how he was connected to Stiles' vision. However, it had been a long, eventful day, so Stiles decided to let the sleeping wolf lie.

~*~

Stiles awoke when Allison shook him awake. "Stiles! Stiles, c'mon. Something went wrong. Scott and Derek were supposed to be back from the market an hour ago."

Blinking, Stiles looked at the light from the window and saw that it was brighter than he expected. "Is it mid-morning already? Why didn't you wake me? Weren't we trying to make Martin by tonight?"

"We all thought after almost drowning and then doing that spell, you needed a rest." Allison hauled Stiles to his feet, not even blinking at the fact that he was wearing shorts and not much else. She pushed his pants into his hands. "Come on. We have to go find them."

"Find…" Stiles trailed off, freezing in place. "Wait! Where did they go?" Stiles felt his pulse beat a jagged rhythm in his ears.

"The market." Allison shoved stockings and boots into his hands. "It's supposed to be less than a mile away, according to the innkeeper. Just on the other side of Whittemore castle. Why aren't you getting dressed?"

"Because!" Stiles shouted, before he realized the volume had everything to do with realizing his own stupidity and nothing to do with trying to hurt or scare Allison. He lowered his voice and tried to keep calm as he told Allison, "Because I tied the spell to me. It doesn't work if Derek gets too far away."

Allison stood with her mouth hanging open for a second or two before she snapped it shut and stepped forward. Smacking Stiles on the arm, she cried, "And you didn't think to _tell_ one of us you were doing it?"

"Derek would have heard," Stiles lamely replied, dropping his boots and stepping into the first leg of his pants. "And I- Fuck, I don't know. I wanted him to stay because he wanted to stay, not because I was holding him hostage."

"Even though you were!" Stomping across the room, Allison started throwing things into bags, regardless of who the things belonged to or which bag they ended up in. "Gods, Stiles! I love you, but you can be such an idiot!"

"Aww," Stiles said, halfway into his shirt. "I love you too, snookums."

"I swear, I will shoot you in the head."

Stiles smirked. Allison wouldn't shoot him. She and her father owed far too much to Stiles' father for such an egregious breach of loyalty. 

Stiles and Allison rushed from the inn and around the castle toward the marketplace. "How are we going to find them?" Stiles asked through ragged breaths. Man, he wasn't used to running this fast! "If– If– I mean...Scott would have noticed and brought Derek back."

"Unless someone stopped them," Allison replied, dodging around a very large man carrying a large load. "We have to–" Allison stopped short and Stiles ran into her from behind. He grabbed her shoulders to keep both of them on their feet.

"What?” Stiles asked, peering around Allison’s shoulder to see what had stopped her. Down the street a block or so, a crowd had gathered. Several of the people were shouting and Stiles felt his stomach drop down to his ankles. “Oh, no.”

“Come on,” Allison said, taking Stiles’ hand and pulling him forward. They approached the crowd and weaved through it until the only people in front of them were a very short woman and her very short children. At the center of the crowd, two city guards held spears to Derek’s neck, while a third held Scott’s hands behind him in a loose grip. Stiles could tell, even this far away, that either werewolf could have gotten out of the situation if they’d wanted to give themselves away. He guessed neither had wanted to divulge that information just yet.

“Did you see that?” one of the men near Stiles asked the woman next to him.

Allison pushed her way closer to the man. “See what? What happened here?”

“That one man,” he said, pointing to Derek. “The guard recognized him as a fugitive. They chased the both of them here.”

“Yeah,” said the short lady in front of Stiles. “We all saw it. They caught the nasty bastard, Gods help them. And then, just a minute ago...”

Stiles could strangle someone in frustration, because he was pretty sure he knew what had happened, but he really needed someone to confirm it for him. “What happened?”

The taller of the woman’s two children cried, “His face _changed_. He looked different before, I swear!”

“We all saw his face change.” Another person in the crowd added.

Allison met Stiles’ gaze, her eyes wide and almost panicked. Leaning in close, she hissed in Stiles’ ear, “I never trained for _this_! What do we do?”

“Lie,” Stiles replied back. “Lie our freaking asses off.”

Before he could push his way further out of the crowd to confront one of the guards, the crowd parted opposite Stiles and Allison. A higher-ranking guard, or maybe even a soldier (Stiles could never keep the uniform signifiers straight), approached the others. When he took off his helmet, Stiles instantly recognized him: Lord Jackson Whittemore, heir apparent for Whittemore Castle and this town surrounding it. Stiles sneered in disdain without really thinking about it.

“You know him?” Allison asked. “Or you’re just not a fan of the uniform?”

“Both,” Stiles told her. “That’s the younger Lord Whittemore. _Jackson_. I met him at Greenberg’s Spring Gala last year.”

“The same gala where you kissed Lady Lydia?” Allison asked, elbowing Stiles in the ribs. When Stiles looked over at her, he almost expected to see Allison’s dimple of amusement in sharp relief on her cheek. It wasn’t there. 

“Yeah,” Stiles replied, heaving out a sharp breath. Yeah, he had to figure out how to get Derek and Scott out of there, when everyone in the crowd had seen Derek’s true face. First step would be to reintroduce himself to Jackson before things got too hairy.

Stiles stopped in his tracks, hand resting on the head of the tallest child when Jackson cried, “Danny! What are you doing here? Visiting? I thought your whole family moved to Stilinski!”

Instead of freezing as Stiles had done, Derek gave Jackson a bright smile. “Lord Whittemore! It’s good to see you! I _am_ visiting. My great aunt, in fact. She didn’t want to move that far away from civilization.”

Jackson laughed. Jackson _laughed_. Jackson laughed at the expense of Stiles’ homeland!

“Shh,” Allison hissed, taking Stiles’ hand off of the child’s head and holding his wrist tightly, so he couldn’t approach the scene.

One of the guards lowered his spear and whispered into Jackson’s ear. Louder, Jackson met Derek’s eyes and he laughed again. “You were wearing a different face? The face of a fugitive? Why?”

Narrowing his eyes at Stiles’ part of the crowd, Derek told Jackson, “You have my Lord Stilinski to blame. He decided to play a prank on me. A trick of magic.”

“Lord Stilinski?” Jackson scoffed, but raised his eyebrows when Stiles yanked himself into the circle, dragging Allison with him. “Oh. That Lord Stilinski.”

“Hey, Lord Whittemore,” Stiles said with an awkward wave. “Yeah, sorry about that. I thought getting Danny in trouble would be funny. Used a face off the first fugitive poster I saw this morning.”

“Magic,” someone behind Stiles breathed, as if disbelieving Stiles’ claim.

Stiles pulled on the ley line below his feet and conjured a cool, blue light in his hand. “See? I’m getting pretty good at illusions.” He finally managed to dislodge Allison, and strode up to the guards, prodding at the one who still had a spear at Derek’s throat until the man lowered his weapon. “I didn't know you and Danny were acquainted, Lord Whittemore."

To be honest, Stiles had never really thought about Danny's life before he showed up in Stilinski. Stiles had spent a good portion of his adolescence trying to get Danny to like him as a person, not just as the Lord's son. It had never worked.

"Danny's mother," Jackson explained, pulling Derek into a brief embrace, "used to be my governess. Mother let her bring Danny to my lessons."

"You never paid attention," Derek offered, and Stiles just about gaped when Jackson laughed and nodded, clapping Derek on the back.

"You know me so well, old friend! Come on, let me treat you to dinner. No need to hang around crackpot magicians who pull pranks."

"No!" Derek cried, jaw jumping with tension. He took a breath and let it out slowly before saying in a much calmer voice, "No. Thank you, Lord Whittemore. As much as I'd love to catch up, we're running an urgent errand for the elder Lord Stilinski."

"That's- That's right," Stiles said, weaving his way around the guards and throwing his arm over Derek's shoulder. "Danny is accompanying me on my trip to Beacon to meet with King Peter. Absolutely no way we can delay even a second longer."

"Accompan- Oh!" Jackson smirked. "Oh, it's like that, huh? Well, far be it from me to keep you two lovebirds apart."

Stiles felt Derek turn toward him, so he poked Derek in the ribs, hoping he would get the message to just go with it. Everybody knew Danny prefered male lovers, and it appeared as if Jackson knew that much about his old childhood friend, at least. Laughing awkwardly, Stiles kissed Derek's cheek. "Oh, you know. We're just _so_ in love. Can't keep us apart!"

Jackson rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, so Stiles counted that as a win. 

Clapping his hands together, Stiles said, "Welp, alright then. I'll just take my companion, and my bodyguards, and we'll be out of your town within the hour. Does that suit you, Lord Jackson?"

"Just… just don't go pulling any more pranks on my friend here," Jackson said, giving Derek a strong pat on the shoulder. "You had him impersonating the Fugitive Prince."

"Derek _Hale_?" Stiles cried, widening his eyes at Derek before he thought better of it and snapped his gaze back to Jackson. "Wow, I just… I did not know that was _his_ face on the poster I saw this morning. You know me and reading." Another awkward laugh and Stiles pushed Derek back the way they came. "See ya at next year's Gala, Lord Whittemore!"

The crowd parted to let them through and Stiles hurried them as fast as he could without making it look suspicious. In fact, at one point, Allison had to pull him back and hiss, "Not so fast, Stilinski. Play it cool."

" _You_ freaking play it cool," Stiles cried. "I'm over here hiding the most wanted man in the kingdom!"

"Shut up!" Derek snarled between Danny-looking teeth. "You keep your mouth shut until we're out of town."

"You know, honey, you keep talking to me like that, and you won't be getting _any_ of this tonight." Stiles raised his brows at Derek, who huffed and walked a little faster. 

For not actually breaking into a run, all four of them reached the inn in surprisingly little time. It took less than five minutes to finish packing, and within ten, they were on the road again. When they passed the castle, this time on horseback, Derek pulled his horse to the other side of Stiles', like he was hiding behind Stiles.

Stiles chuckled at him, but made sure to reach out and caress Derek's face when the guards were watching him. Hey, maybe the hand-to-cheek action was laying it on a little thick, but what did Stiles have to lose? No one would be able to detect Derek's disguise.

Well, maybe not _no one_. There were other wizards in the kingdom, but Stiles had learned from the best, which made him second only to one. Not that Stiles had ever actually _met_ these other wizards, but he had faith that Deaton was the best. The man had practically helped raise Scott after Scott's father ran out on the family. Stiles would love Deaton for that fact alone.

As soon as they were clear of the city, and out in an open field with no one around, Stiles turned to Derek and asked, "You're the freaking _Prince_?"

Nostrils flaring and mouth turning down into a frown - which was weird to see on Danny's face - Derek said, "Yes. Okay? I'm the missing prince."

"Where's your sister?" Scott asked, joining them on Stiles' other side. Allison rode on Derek's other side, even though her horse had to walk on the less-than-even ground next to the road. Stiles turned his horse to the side a few feet, trying to give her space.

Derek sighed. "I don't know. We got separated about a week ago when I went out to get food. When I got back to our hideout, she was gone. I was looking for her when I ran into you."

"Did you really kidnap her?" Allison asked. Stiles wrinkled his nose at her bad manners, but he guessed he should have been glad she didn't ask about one of the other accusations made against him. Like the one where he and his Argentian lover had killed his entire family and then fled.

Stiles never thought the accusation made any sense. Why would Derek, second in line for the throne, kill his whole family, save his elder sister, and then not take the crown that should have been his sister's and then his? The more information Stiles found out - usually through his father and his father's contacts in the capital - the more he began to suspect that the Fugitive Prince wasn't in on any of it.

Derek shook his head, his jaw clenched so tightly, Stiles could see the muscle twitching with effort. "Peter turned the soldiers against both of us. We had to flee Beacon. What I want to know," Derek urged his horse forward and then turned so he faced Stiles. "Was why my disguise gave out in the first place. You told me no one would see my true face."

"Ah." Stiles gave a sharp nod and held up a finger. "About that. I, uh– I kind of wove the spell between the two of us. I have to be nearby in order for it to work."

Brows drawing together and eyes widening, Derek demanded, "Why would you _do_ that?"

"Um." Stiles looked over to Allison for a little help, but she had one hand on her hip, eyebrows up as she stared back at him. "Granted, it wasn't such a good idea, forgetting to tell you that caveat. I just… I guess I just wanted to ensure that you would stay with me." Stiles remembered the assumption Jackson made and the tips of his ears went hot. "I mean, stay around long enough for me to figure out how my tattoo and yours are connected."

"Maybe you're supposed to help him regain the throne," Scott offered. Stiles realized that it was the first time he'd heard Scott speak all day. Stiles kicked himself for not noticing sooner. Some best friend he was.

Then the gravity of Scott's words sunk in. Stiles was supposed to help the Fugitive Prince get his throne back? "How in the hell am I supposed to do that?"

"Just get me close enough to Peter," Derek said, dark hatred in his eyes. "I'll do the rest." Turning his horse, Derek started down the road toward Beacon again.

"Wait, wait, wait," Stiles cried, digging in his heels to make his horse catch up with Derek's. "If you're a werewolf… Were you bitten?"

"No." Derek didn't look at Stiles, but kept his gaze forward on the road.

Stiles felt like his entire world was turning upside-down. "Does that mean the entire royal family were werewolves?"

"Oh my god, really?" Scott cried from behind them. Stiles looked back to see a bright grin on his face, like he'd finally seen a bright side to being bitten.

"Not _all_ of them," Derek said.

"But enough," Stiles finished for him. He laughed giddily. "Does that mean the Queen was a werewolf? No wonder she was so badass!"

"Humans can be badass, too," Allison called, affronted but smirking.

Looking back at her, it occurred to Stiles that, besides his father, he was the only one in Stilinski who knew that Allison and her father were Argentian. In fact, they were Argentian royalty, though Christopher and his daughter had been disowned by King Gerard. And it was Chris' sister, Princess Katherine, who'd allegedly seduced Derek into killing his parents and most of the rest of his family line.

Derek could _not_ find out Allison's true identity.

Stiles wanted to ask exactly what had happened with Princess Katherine, but he figured the question could wait. Derek looked like he'd spew flowers and fluffy bunnies before he'd answer another question.

Stiles dropped back, riding between Scott and Allison on their way to their last stop before Beacon, the city of Martin. Ostensibly he kept his eyes on the road, but really they kept wandering back to the space between Derek's shoulders. Just like he could feel one ley line after another below his feet, Stiles could feel the magic connecting his tattoo to Derek's. 

Stiles had to think about it very hard to keep himself from scratching the inside of his wrist.

~*~

As they approached Martin, Stiles told Derek, "I've written a letter to Lady Lydia. She's expecting us to stay over with her. I know she and Lord Whittemore have been close for a long time, so she might recognize your face."

"Not a problem," Derek told Stiles. "I know Lady Lydia."

"You do?" Stiles found his heart aching. It took him a moment to realize he felt jealousy. "I mean, that's nice."

Stiles heard Scott murmuring behind him, but he couldn't make out the words. He turned around and gave Scott a look, but Scott just grinned at him, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. When Stiles turned back to Derek, he found Danny's face smirking at him.

"What?"

"Scott thinks we should keep playing lovers, just in case Lord Jackson and Lady Lydia speak to each other. He tells me I'll have to make a good show of it to keep Lady Lydia away from you." Derek's eyes cut back toward Scott and Stiles had this horrible vision of the two of them teaming up against him.

Turning around, Stiles called back to Scott, "I was _sixteen_ , Scott. _She_ kissed _me_. How was I not supposed to develop a crush? Besides, Lady Lydia hardly knows who I am!"

"And that's why she's letting us stay in her castle?" Allison called back, her hand grasping Scott's when he gave it to her with a laugh.

"All of you need to shut up now." Stiles urged his horse forward so he could pout in solitude. So what if he'd once had a horribly devastating crush on Lady Lydia? She'd made it clear after the kiss in question that she would never be anything more than his friend. And Stiles _liked_ being her friend. There weren't many people in the kingdom smarter or more interesting to talk to than her. 

He certainly didn't need to pretend to be with _Danny_ to keep her from declaring her everlasting love for him. That was never going to happen.

Stealing a glance back at Derek, his gaze long and off toward the field to their left, Stiles found that being unable to see Derek's true face felt wrong. It itched almost as much as the fresh wounds on his wrist.

Stiles found wanting to see Derek's true face again gave him more motivation to help Derek topple Peter from the throne than the fact that apparently Peter had taken power through evil means.

Stiles wasn't sure what his motivations meant about his personality – aside from the fact that the goings-on in Beacon didn't greatly affect his corner of the country all the way in Stilinski – so he pushed his concern over the matter away. Derek had to keep wearing Danny's face until everything with Peter was said and done. There couldn't be any more slip-ups. This close to Beacon, people would know Derek's true face well.

Stiles just had to think of a few good reasons why he couldn't do the spell again – this time without binding it into his own skin as well. Because sooner or later, Derek would ask, and Stiles wouldn't be able to tell him that he'd gotten used to having Derek's grumpy self around.

~*~

They arrived in Martin during the late afternoon, reaching the gates with Scott in front and Stiles bringing up the rear. Derek hadn’t talked to Stiles at all that day, aside from little things like, “Are you done with that,” and, “get moving.” Stiles wasn’t sure what to think of his behavior. On the one hand, Stiles was happy that Derek was still traveling with them, but on the other, now Derek knew that Stiles had, in effect, tied them together, holding Derek hostage.

If Stiles were in Derek’s shoes, he might not have spoken to Stiles either.

In all the previous cities they’d been through, Allison knew the way to the inn they stayed at, so they followed her. She and her father had traveled the country extensively before they ended up in Stilinski, working their way from town to town. That fact, while kind of sad whenever Stiles thought about it too long, was one of the reasons he brought Allison along with him. (The other being that she was the Captain of the Guard’s daughter and he’d practically insisted on it. Also, Stiles wouldn’t go anywhere without Scott and Scott wouldn’t go anywhere with Allison, so the three of them it was.)

In Martin, they didn’t head for the nearest reputable inn. Instead, Stiles led them toward the keep in the middle of the city. Not that Stiles had been here before, but when all roads led to the castle, it became difficult to lose one’s way.

At the gate to the keep itself, Stiles stopped before the guards and nodded Allison to take her place next to him. “Hello,” he cried to the guards, all three of whom looked more than a little bored. “Lord Stilinski, the younger, and company, here to see Lady Lydia. She’s expecting us.”

“It says here,” the guard said lazily, holding up a board with a parchment of notes tacked to it, that we’re expecting Lord Stilinski and two guests. Now, I may be getting a little slow in my old age–“ The guard didn’t look any older than Stiles, actually, “–but it seems to me you’ve got three companions.”

“We met an old friend along the way,” Stiles said without blinking. “And he decided to join us. I’d really rather he stayed with us. Don’t worry,” Stiles turned and grinned at Derek, “he can sleep on the floor.”

Derek scowled, which made Stiles have to stifle his urge to laugh. Really, he shouldn’t be laughing at Derek at all. The poor man was Stiles’ prisoner, but he just made every moment so laced with gravity that Stiles couldn’t help but think he was taking everything too seriously. A lot too seriously.

A woman’s bright voice broke through Stiles’ thoughts, “Lord Stilinski!” Stiles turned to see Lady Lydia arriving at the gatehouse, on foot, accompanied by a pair of very muscle-bound young men, who appeared to be twins. One of them grinned, not at Stiles, but back at Derek. The fondness in that grin gave Stiles a sinking feeling in his stomach. “You’d make an old friend of yours sleep on the floor?”

“Well,” Stiles replied, slipping down from his horse to bow before Lady Lydia. “Anything to be allowed to spend the night in your wonderful abode.”

Instead of laughing, Lydia rolled her eyes and gave Stiles an unimpressed moue. She gave Stiles her hand, which he promptly kissed, making sure not to drool on her like he had last time. Behind him, the others dismounted as well, and the grinning twin gave Derek a little wave. “Hi, Danny!”

“Oh,” Stiles said, his fears about the twin all but confirmed. “You know Danny?”

“Intimately,” he replied, giving Derek a bit of a leer.

Well, gods damn it. They weren’t supposed to run into anyone Danny _knew_! His was just supposed to be an innocuous face from home that Stiles could borrow for a little while. The only way Stiles could think of to keep Lydia’s friend from asking Derek too many questions was to continue his ruse from two days previous. Trying to hide the one last wistful glance he wanted to give Lydia, Stiles put his arm around Derek’s waist. “I didn’t know you had any past lovers from this part of the country, darling.”

Derek put his arm over Stiles’ shoulders. “Oh, you know how I don’t like to live in the past, my lord.”

Stiles could have done without the, “my lord,” at the end of Derek’s sentence, but he supposed at least it was effective. The twin who had been giving Derek the eye pressed his lips together and stared straight ahead. His brother, instead, cracked a smile at the first twin’s expense.

Lady Lydia chuckled. “Oh, Danny. You always were one to break hearts. My Lord Whittemore forever talks about you as if you were the one who got away. I’m not surprised you find yourself in another young Lordling’s bed.”

“Lord Whittemore likes having rumors floating around about himself,” Derek replied, “very few of which are actually true.” Stiles laughed to cover up his surprise at the statement. Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised after the way Derek handled Jackson, but he still was. It wasn’t every day that Stiles found someone as good at lying on the fly as he was.

It made Stiles want to curl into the warmth of Derek’s side. So he did, taking the chance while it was still available. Derek looked over at Stiles and one of his eyebrows twitched up, but he quickly hid the expression behind a fond smile. Stiles’ heart thumped loudly in his chest, spurred on by the thought that Derek was bound to be able to hear it. Stiles’ spell hadn’t masked Derek’s abilities the way it had masked his face.

“Hmm,” Lydia replied, and Stiles couldn’t be sure whether the inflection of her hum meant agreement, or that she was simply observing everyone’s behavior and would make her judgments at a later time. Gods, she was so intelligent. Stiles knew she had promised herself to Lord Whittemore, but he couldn’t help but want to be the man who made her break that commitment. Unfortunately, while still pretending to be Derek’s paramour, he couldn’t make any move for Lydia.

She’d probably knock him down on his ass if he tried, anyway. Again.

“Who are your other companions?” Lady Lydia asked, looking past Stiles and Derek to where Scott stood holding the reigns for all the horses, Allison at his side. 

“My Deputy Captain of the Guard, Allison,” Stiles told Lydia, who gave Allison an appreciative look up and down. “And one of her men, Scott McCall.”

“Oh, just one of her men,” Lydia asked, her brows raised as she looked back and forth between the two of them. “Mmm-hmm.”

Stiles wasn’t sure what to make of Lydia’s comment, but he did smile at the way it made Allison and Scott both blush. 

“Well, isn’t your party full of young lovers?” Lydia cried, snapping her fingers at the twin who knew Danny. He stepped forward and Lydia pointed at Scott. "See to their horses, would you Ethan?"

"Yes, M'lady," he said, giving Derek another sad look. Derek ignored him and tightened his hold on Stiles' shoulders. Stiles found himself wishing that the embrace was anything other than Derek wanting to make sure his cover wasn't blown. 

"So," Lydia said as she took the remaining twin's arm and gestured Stiles and his group to follow her. "Lord Stiles, how are your magic tricks coming along? You know, after last year's Gala, I overheard Lady Heather saying how impressed she was with your little illusions."

"Really?" Stiles asked, his voice breaking with surprise. "I mean, yeah, I put on that little show. You should have seen it, Danny. I made this dragon appear out of Lord Greenberg's wine glass. His scream was hilarious."

Lydia looked back as they walked and Stiles watched her watch Derek as he responded. "I'm sure m'lord made a fantastic display. Though, I have to say, I'm partial to the illusions you do just for me."

"Aw, don't go getting all sentimental on me," Stiles replied with as lovestruck a grin as he could muster. "I just like to make you happy."

Ethan's brother made a sound suspiciously like gagging and Lydia made a little, high-pitched, "Hmph."

Wanting to change the subject back to something true, Stiles said, "In fact, my training with Wizard Deaton has been going quite well, lately. I'm hoping to reach master level before I need to take over too many of the responsibilities from my father."

"I hope you haven't been neglecting your education concerning the matters of your estate," Lydia replied, nodding to the guards who opened the door leading from the keep's courtyard into the palace itself. "I find learning the ins and outs of Martin takes up most of my time these days."

Stiles wondered why Lydia was learning how to rule Martin when she had an older sister, and was planning to marry Lord Jackson, who was heir to his father's estate. In fact, the oddity made Stiles worry after Justine Martin's health, if not due to natural causes, than due to whatever Lydia was planning. As much as Stiles loved Lady Lydia, he would put no act past her.

"Nah," he replied, taking in the rich decorations lining every surface of the castle foyer. Gold-trimmed paintings, gold-laced tapestries, brass light fixtures with glittering crystals hung from them. If Stiles didn't already know that the Martins were one of the richest families in the nation, he would know so now. "Stilinski isn't nearly as complex as Martin. I mean, mostly we just do a lot of fishing and train up soldiers."

"Speaking of," Lydia said, leading them off the foyer and into a sitting room that looked so fancy – with all its gold paint and rich-colored upholstery, "I hear that King Peter sent to your father for an army capable of attacking Argentia." She gestured for Stiles to sit down, and he did. When Ethan's brother remained standing, Stiles didn't gesture for Derek or Scott to join him, though he did wave to Allison, who took her place by his side. Lydia didn't argue the fact, though she did continue, "Do you have any juicy gossip on the matter? I'd love to be the first person to know whether or not we're going to war. There are some excellent investments I could make, if conditions were right."

Stiles didn't want to know anything about the kinds of investments Lydia might be after, though he did want to tell Lydia about his father's answer to King Peter's request. "Unfortunately, I've been sworn to secrecy." Stiles smiled at Allison. "Even our Deputy Captain of the Guard doesn't know Father's plan."

"I'm sure the Captain of the Guard does know," Allison added. "But he and Lord Stilinski keep their counsel to themselves."

Stiles chuckled. "That's so true. Hey, if we both live that long, I promise when I'm Lord of Stilinski, I'll tell lots of things just to you."

"Good," Allison replied, smiling.

Stiles looked over at Lydia and caught her watching their exchange with intense interest. When her gaze found Stiles', Lydia cleared her throat. "Speaking of keeping counsel close to one's chest, I'd like a moment alone with Lord Stilinski, if that's alright, my dear madam Deputy Captain."

Allison looked to Stiles – who was seriously starting to suspect that Lydia was going to kill him rather than do something he'd been dreaming about and kiss him again – and he nodded despite his reservations. "Go ahead." Cutting his eyes back toward Derek, Stiles told Allison, "But maybe don't go _too_ far."

"Don't worry, m'lord." Allison grinned, slapping Stiles' arm as she rose. "I won't let Danny stray." And then she winked at him.

Allison's cheekiness made Stiles want to punch her, but he would never purposefully punch Allison – she had a lethal right cross. Allison and the others left, including Ethan's brother. Stiles watched the door close behind them, then turned to face Lydia. "So, what do you want to talk about? All the secret nobility conspiracies? Food? Fine wines?"

Lydia rose one eyebrow. "Do _you_ know anything about fine wines?"

"Well, no, but I'd pretend to for your sake!" Stiles gave an awkward chuckle, but Lydia didn't laugh with him. "So, what would you like to talk about?"

"Magic," she said, tracing the hem of her sleeve with the other hand. "Specifically, illusions."

"Okay...?" Stiles paused, waiting for Lydia to continue.

"You can do illusions?"

"Yeah," Stiles sat back on the cushions of Lydia's sofa. "That's pretty much all I _can_ do."

Lydia gave Stiles another of her assessing looks. "Be that as it may, your illusions are _very_ good. You were able to deceive Ethan, after all."

Oh, crap. "I don't think I like the direction this conversation is heading." Stiles chuckled awkwardly, his heart beating up in his throat.

Lydia smirked. "Oh, don't worry. I'm not about to turn you in for harboring a couple of werewolves. After all," she shrugged one shoulder, "I've been harboring a few as well. They make excellent bodyguards, don't you think?"

Stiles gave an educated guess. "The twins?"

Nodding, Lydia shifted in her seat, uncrossing, then recrossing her legs. "I _know_ that wasn't Danny Mahealani, but a werewolf you brought inside _my_ walls."

"Technically, they're your father's wa—"

"And _somehow_ you were able to disguise this fact from not one, but _two_ alpha werewolves."

"But not from you," Stiles pointed out, trying not to freak out about how his friends in the hallway were essentially at the mercy of two of the most dangerous type of werewolves in existence. "How did you see through it? Have you been practicing magic, Lady Lydia?"

"Well, for starters, the way your mysterious lover dismounted was very spry, considering the fact that Danny Mahealani has a slight deformity that restricts the movement of his left arm. I must only conclude that you fell in love with a werewolf and have used illusion to hide his true nature, as well as his face." Lydia smirked and folded her hands in her lap. "Also, your foot soldier held the reins of three horses like he were holding dogs' leads, and still managed to keep control of the beasts with what looked like minimal effort."

"Scott is good with animals," Stiles offered weakly. He felt sick. How could he have forgotten about Danny's arm? It was the main reason he'd learned bookkeeping, rather than the arts of war, even though Stiles caught him almost daily watching the soldiers practice out in the yard. "Gods above! You're intensely observant, Lady Lydia."

She shrugged, but gave Stiles a pleased smile.

"I find myself terrified of what you're going to do with this information," Stiles told her, readying his hold on the ley line below the castle in case he needed to make a hasty escape. 

"While it's true that the penalty for harboring werewolves is now very severe–" Stiles laughed at Lydia's understatement. The last landowner caught hiding werewolves on his property had lost his head. "I have already told you that I am guilty as well. Were I to turn you in, I have no doubt you'd rat on me in kind. However…"

"However?"

Lydia's red-stained lips turned up, the barest hint of her teeth showing. "However, if we were to aid each other instead, I'm sure we could come to a beneficial agreement."

Stiles regarded Lydia for a moment, searching her face for some indication that this was a trap, meant to lull him into a false sense of security or something. All he saw was shrewd straightforwardness. Taking a deep breath before he spoke, Stiles asked, "What sort of beneficial agreement?"

"You do your spell for my boys, and I get you invited back to Greenberg's Gala next year."

"He was going to invite me back anyway!" Stiles cried, wondering if he was going to have to do his cloaking spell on all the hidden werewolves in the country. Lydia's eyebrow quirked upward and Stiles' stomach fell. "Wasn't he? I _am_ one of the nobility."

"Stiles, last year you got so drunk, you threw up in the punchbowl. No one wants you there."

"I thought we all had fun!" Stiles frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. "Anyway, I don't really care about that. Give me a better reason to help you, Lydia."

"Fine," she said, leaning forward, one hand planted on the cushion beside her. "I can make sure you reach Beacon without being molested. With my guards at your side, no one will stop you. Hardly anyone in Beacon knows your face, Lord Stilinski. With such a small party on the road between here and the big city, even having werewolves with you may not be enough to protect you from King Peter's corrupt guards. I can give you that protection."

"I heard rumors about bandits." Stiles frowned and loosened his arms. "I figured they were exaggerations. We get raids on some of our more far-flung land, out West, but nothing as brazen as attacks on the King's road."

"My guards know the road well. They'll be able to steer you away from the major assaults. In fact," Lydia leaned closer to Stiles and whispered, "the twins used to be part of a band of thieves. I offered them both a much better situation, living here at the palace."

"And this band of thieves," Stiles asked, leaning further toward Lydia, "they're all werewolves?"

"Most of them." Lydia nodded sharply. "The King doesn't want anyone to know, but the attacks have been getting worse. It's almost like they have a vendetta against anyone from the capital."

"Well, King Peter has been particularly vicious in his sentencing. Queen Talia was more of a live and let live ruler, even if werewolves were technically illegal during her reign."

Lydia's gaze dropped to her lap and she rubbed one hand with the other thumb. In a quiet voice, Lydia said, "I miss her. The Queen. She was always so good to me."

"I never got to meet her, though my father does hold her in much better esteem than he does King Peter. You know the only people who weren't disturbed by the way the succession fell to Talia's brother rather than her daughter, or even her son, were the lords and ladies already in Peter's pocket."

"That's treason to say out loud." Lydia tilted up her chin. "But I agree. After all, the only ears listening to us now are the werewolves out in the hallway. Isn't that right, Aiden, dear?"

One of the twins, presumably Aiden, poked his head in through the door. "That's right, m'lady."

Smirking, Lydia turned her eyes back to Stiles, pinning him into his seat. "So, my help reaching the capital unscathed, for your help disguising my men."

"I mean, no offense," Stiles said, cutting his gaze over to Aiden, "but how do I know your werewolves are good people? What if I'm just helping them go back to their troupe of thieves without fear of being caught?"

"I'm vouching for them," Lydia said, standing up and taking the few steps over to Stiles. She leaned down, putting her face just inches from Stiles and bracketing him in with her hands resting on the back of the couch to either side of his head. "That should be good enough."

Trying to tell himself it was silly to be this terrified, Stiles nodded vigorously. "Yep. Yeah, okay. Good enough for me. I'll need a rest, probably. And a few ingredients. Ferns. You know how magic can be."

"I don't." Lydia smiled brightly and stood up, offering Stiles her hand. "But that's why I have you, Lord Stilinski."

When Lydia snapped her fingers, Aiden stepped the rest of the way into the room. "Show our guests to their rooms, won't you, darling?"

"Of course," Aiden said, clasping his hands together behind his back and giving Lydia a slight bow.

"Oh," Lydia smirked when Stiles looked back at her. "And tell your brother not to worry. I'm sure the _real_ Danny is still desperately in love with him."

"Yes, m'lady." Aiden gave Stiles a wink and then started out of the room at a brisk pace. Stiles followed, the rest of his people joining just on the other side of the door.

"You guys heard all that?" He asked quietly, knowing Aiden could hear him easily.

"We all got the gist of it." Scott kept pace with Stiles while Allison walked just behind Aiden and Derek brought up the rear, all but lollygagging. Stiles feared in the pit of his stomach that Derek would try to slip away again, that he'd try to hide his face and run off. Stiles feared never seeing Derek again, even if every time he looked back, he saw Danny's face glaring back at him.

~*~

The spells both went uneventfully in the morning. Aiden chose as his tattoo the left half of a circle, while Ethan chose the right. They'd wanted the moon, but Stiles wasn't a good enough artist to do the satellite any justice.

The ride to Beacon would take most of the day, so Stiles hauled himself over to his horse, even though he felt just about dead on his feet. He'd never done two spells that rigorous one right after the other before. It made his limbs feel wobbly and uneven. 

Stiles made it all the way over to his horse under his own power before having to stop and rest. He pet the old girl's nose and scratched behind her ears. Whispering to her, Stiles said, "I'm gonna need you to follow where Allison leads you, alright, girl? I'm just gonna tie myself to your saddle and come along for the ride. Sorry, I might be quiet company today."

So close that Stiles just about jumped out of his skin when he heard it, Derek's voice said, "I doubt that, Lord Stilinski. You even talk in your sleep."

"I do not!" Stiles insisted, even though there was no way he could tell whether he did or not. "Oh, you do," Scott chimed in, giving Derek a grin, which Stiles absolutely did not like. Scott was his best friend, he wasn't Derek's friend. Sure, Scott could befriend a dragon (if they existed) in as much time as it took to have a conversation about the weather, but that didn't mean he could be friends with Derek. With _Stiles'_ Derek. It was a clear conflict of interest.

With a huff, Stiles put his foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself up, only for his arms to give out halfway up. He started falling back to the ground, but a pair of hands tight on his waist stopped him from falling. "Thanks," Stiles said as the hands helped him up onto the saddle, thinking they were Scott's. When Stiles got his other leg over the saddle and looked back, it was Derek watching Stiles settle in, hands up like he expected Stiles to fall off at any second. Stiles rolled his eyes, "You can tie me to the saddle if it makes you feel better."

Derek blushed in Danny's cheeks and stomped away toward his own horse.

Stiles called after him, "No, I was serious! I'm not gonna last all day without passing out!"

Derek stopped, one hand on the reins the stable girl held out to him. While he stood there, Allison came over to Stiles with a length of rope, looping the middle around the pommel of his saddle. Before she could do anything else, Derek came back, taking Stiles' foot out of the stirrup.

"What are you doing?" Allison asked him with a deep frown.

"Tying him won't work," Derek said, putting one hand on the back of the saddle and slipping his foot into the stirrup away from which he'd knocked Stiles' foot. "I'll make sure he doesn't fall." Then Derek jumped up, settling on the back of the saddle and pushing Stiles forward, even as he looped both arms around Stiles' waist. 

"Ah–" Stiles said in surprise, before catching the fact that Lydia and her werewolves were still watching them. "Ha, ha. That tickles, dear heart."

"You'll get used to it, love," Derek replied in Stiles' ear as he took the reins from Stiles' hands.

Stiles knew the endearment was for the sake of those listening to their conversation, but it didn't make the shiver tingling down his spine any less real. Stiles shifted as best he could to give Derek enough room without Stiles having his privates pressed too close to the pommel. Finding a comfortable position wasn't easy, but Stiles gave it a good shot, wriggling this way and that.

"Stop it!" Derek hissed in Stiles' ear, pressing one arm across Stiles' chest and holding him still. "Don't move."

"Have you _met_ me?" Stiles shot back, trying not to notice the way Scott was grinning at them. Stiles felt his cheeks heat up, so he resolutely refused to meet anyone's eyes until they were starting to leave.

Lady Lydia approached Stiles' horse and patted her mane. Looking up at Stiles and then Derek, she said, "Good luck, Lord Stilinski. I have a feeling the next few days are going to be very interesting for you."

Narrowing his eyes at her, Stiles asked, "What the hell does that mean?"

Instead of answering, Lydia looked over Stiles' shoulder and addressed Derek. "I know you're not the Danny I knew," she said, taking her hand back and crossing her arms, "but Lord Stilinski appears fond of you, so I'm putting my trust in you as if you were. You take care of Lord Stilinski here, and you don't get in my boys' way, and I'll consider that trust unbroken. Do we have a deal, stranger?"

Derek cleared his throat loudly in Stiles' ear and nodded against his shoulder. "Yes, m'lady."

Stiles wasn't sure how Derek felt, talking to a lesser noble like he wasn't the Prince of the whole entire country. He didn't feel any more tense against Stiles' back than before Lydia spoke to him, so Stiles figured either Derek didn't care, or he felt comfortable addressing Lydia with respect. Or, he just got so used to being a _fugitive_ prince that rank and honor meant nothing to him anymore. 

As they rode away from Martin, one of the twins in front – Stiles thought it was Ethan, probably so he wouldn't have to watch someone wearing Danny's face riding on the same horse with Stiles. Allison rode beside Stiles and Derek, dropping back when the road demanded it. Scott had Derek's horse tied to his, and the other twin, Aiden, brought up the rear of their party.

As they cleared the city, Stiles said quietly, "Yep. Just a whole bunch of humans, heading for the capital. Nothing to see here."

Derek snorted before hissing in Stiles' ear, "Quiet about that."

Stiles smirked and let his focus on the road wander. He wanted to ask Derek how he really felt about going back to the palace in disguise, but Lydia's twins didn't know his true identity and that was one thing Stiles didn't want to take away from Derek. He'd already taken Derek's freedom and his face.

Thoughts on the days ahead – Lydia's comments about them gave Stiles' pause – and body rocked by the motion of the horse. Stiles' attention eventually wandered so much that he started nodding off. He leaned back against the chest behind him, and a thick arm held him close. Stiles felt safe letting go of the ley line and falling asleep.

~*~

Stiles slept on and off over the course of the day, which made the journey to Beacon simultaneously quicker and slower than it should have been. Stiles got so used to Derek at his back that when they stopped to rest the horses and Derek dismounted, Stiles' back felt cold and lonely. He wrapped his arms around himself and leaned against Derek again before he realized what he was doing. Instead, Stiles stood up straighter and wandered away toward where Scott untied Derek's horse from his own.

For the last hour or so up to the palace, Stiles rode on his own, trying not the show the pout he wanted to give. What if something happened to Derek? What if he and Stiles were separated and Derek's mask fell? Would he be executed before Stiles could stop it? Would he be put up on trial for things Stiles was certain he didn't do? Having Derek riding on another horse, back behind Scott, made Stiles' skin itch. He didn't like it one bit.

The road they followed mostly led through farmland – flat or rolling fields and pastures – but a mile past one of the villages, it entered a broad forest. Stiles watched Ethan sit up straighter, his shoulders down and broad, like he was trying not to draw them up. He'd seen the gesture before in his father's soldiers as they prepared for a fight. You couldn't move fluidly and fight well if your muscles were tensed up.

Captain Argent's second, Lieutenant Graeme, had tried over and over again to break Stiles of the habit of tensing up before he tried to land a blow. After three years of trying, she deemed Stiles untrainable and Dad finally gave Stiles the go ahead to start learning wizardry from Deaton. Stiles wished more than once that they would have given up on him earlier, because then maybe he'd know even more magic and feel safer in situations like this – where even a werewolf felt nervous. 

Stiles spent so much time holding tight to the ley line they traveled over and trying not to tense his shoulders in response to Ethan's body language, that he almost dismissed the first signs of the attack as animals moving through the brush. The way Ethan jumped off his horse and snarled into the brambles beside the road, finally alerted Stiles to the fact that they were under attack. He pulled up his horse's reins to stop her and ducked as something whistled over his head.

Still having some of Lieutenant Graeme's training broken into his muscles, Stiles quickly slipped off of his horse, using her for cover. Looking over his shoulder, he saw an arrow embedded in the tree behind him. Someone came up quick on Stiles' side and he was relieved to see that it was Scott.

"I thought Lydia's guards were supposed to keep us away from this!" Scott cried, grabbing Stiles close as his horse got nervous and danced toward them. Someone roared, and Stiles turned around, peeking past the horse's rear to see where the noise had come from. Past Allison, who loosed arrows into the brush every second or so, Stiles saw Derek, crouched in a defensive posture with his mouth wide open. Miraculously, he hadn't shifted. 

Stiles couldn't say as much for Aiden, on Derek's far side. The werewolf sprouted hair on the side of his face and his teeth grew long and viciously pointed. Well, there was a spell Stiles was going to have to reset, provided they all made it out of this alive.

On his other side, Ethan roared as well, and Stiles knew he had to do something. These had to be the thieves Lydia warned Stiles about, but what if they managed to capture Stiles? What if they turned him in for harboring werewolves? No, he couldn't let that happen. They all had to get away and soon.

Grabbing Scott's arm, Stiles asked him, "Can you tell where they are? How many?"

"Sort of," Scott replied, shaking his head. He cried out when a woman wielding a sword swung down from a tree and struck at Allison. Allison managed to duck just in time, rolling forward and shooting the woman in the back as she came back up. The woman screamed and fell down in front of Derek, who pressed his boot to her neck. Stiles could hear the snap from where he stood, watching with his jaw dropped.

Scott hit Stiles' shoulder to get his attention and pointed up. At least four more thieves sat up in the trees, getting ready to swing down onto them. Stiles did the first thing that came to his mind and created a flash of light up at their level. Two of them fell through the brush, while a third swung blindly forward and the fourth held tight to his perch.

Stiles didn't know how to stop the attack. He knew _illusions_ not battle magic, despite begging Deaton over and over again to teach him. What could he do with illusions? How could he make these thieves think it wasn't worth the trouble to keep attacking? He'd have to make their party appear much bigger than it was.

"Got my back?" Stiles asked Scott, who pulled his sword from his belt and nodded.

"I got you."

Stiles returned the nod and then closed his eyes. He drew as much magic as he dared from the ley line (which ran further away from the road than Stiles felt comfortable with, but what could he do about it now?). Then, Stiles summoned up the sound of a hundred troops bearing down on them. It was a sound he knew well from watching his father's troops run formations, and Stiles pumped up the volume as best he could without channeling more magic than he was capable of.

Thinking about how he was going to follow through with some visuals to back up the threat of his auditory illusion, Stiles got knocked almost off his feet. He opened his eyes to find Scott in front of him, holding off a female werewolf with judicious swipes of his sword.

"I don't want to kill you," Scott cried, dodging as the werewolf swiped at them again. Stiles just managed to get out of the way as well.

The werewolf grinned around sharp teeth. "That's funny, because I really want to kill you." She took another swipe, which Scott parried with a thrust of his sword into her upper arm. She drew back and hissed, holding her other hand to the injury. "Now I _really_ want to kill you, puny little soldier man."

All of a sudden, Derek skidded to a stop between Scott, who had to pull his sword away with a sharp breath of surprise, and the werewolf. "Cora?"

" _Princess_ Cora?" Stiles asked, watching the werewolf's eyes go wide.

"No!" she cried, snapping at Derek. "I'm a _werewolf_. I can't be the princess. She died with her parents at the hands of that Argentian bitch, Katherine."

Derek's voice grew softer and he held his hands out in front of him. "Cora."

Looking to the side, Stiles saw Aiden and the werewolf he'd been fighting pause to watch the exchange. On the other side, Ethan held down another thief, his thick arm around the man's neck.

"Who are you?" Cora demanded, feinting forward again, swiping at – and just missing – Derek's chest. "Who do you think you are?"

Stiles watched his back as Derek rolled his neck, snapping it this way and that. The magic roiling between Derek and Stiles snapped and then Danny Mahealani no longer stood in front of Stiles and Scott. Instead, a werewolf stood there, his back to them, his sharp claws out and at his sides. "Cora, it's me."

"Derek?" she cried, her face melting back into something more human as the hair on her cheeks retreated and her ears and teeth shrank. Delicate, if dark like Derek's, eyebrows returned to their place above her eyes, and rose high on her forehead. "Derek?"

"It's me," he said, and even Allison stopped fighting as everyone watched the scene in front of them. "I– We– Laura and I. We both thought you were dead. If I'd known you escaped, I would have–"

"It's too late for 'would have'," she said, right before punching Derek in the face.

He went down, landing on his hands and knees. Ethan ran closer, but Derek held out a hand to him. "We're going to the palace, Cora." Derek stood up, brushing himself off. "I'm going to confront Peter, and I'm going to kill him."

"Why?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest and raising one eyebrow. "You _helped_ Princess Katherine kill our family. Everyone knows that."

"I didn't. When Peter found out that Laura and I escaped, he sent the guards after us. He's the one who made us a fugitives, instead of rulers. He's the one who betrayed Mother."

"I _saw_ you with Princess Katherine."

Derek pressed his lips together and clenched his jaw as he nodded. "Then why haven't you gone back to the palace? Why are you attacking travelers and letting everyone think you're dead?"

Cora lifted her chin defiantly for a moment before dropping her gaze to the ground. "I only survived...well, I only survived because I am what we Hales all are, Derek. When I saw them behead Lord Deucalion a few days later, I knew it wasn't safe to go back. But Uncle _Peter_?"

When Cora's voice broke, Stiles found himself starting to feel for her. She looked less like the maniac trying to kill his best friend and more like the abandoned sister of the man Stiles lo– thought of as a new friend.

Derek pulled his sister into a hug and a sigh of relief settled over everyone. Stiles relaxed his iron-tight grip on the ley line, though he still maintained his normal grasp on it. Then, a thought occurred to him. "Crap. I'm gonna have to do another spell before we go to Beacon, aren't I?"

Stepping back from his sister, Derek asked Cora, "You'll come with us, won't you?"

She nodded, turning toward her people. Then, she paused and turned back. "Derek? Where's Laura?"

Stiles watched as Derek dropped his gaze down to his hands. "I don't know. I … we got separated. We'll find her."

Cora gave Derek a hesitant nod, then turned back toward her people, gathering up those who were still alive. Stiles felt a little bad about Cora losing one of her friends to Allison's arrow, but then again, it had been the thieves who attacked first.

Allison joined Stiles and Scott behind Derek. She put her arm around Scott's shoulders and leaned toward Stiles, asking in his ear, "Gonna need another fern?"

Nodding, Stiles said, "I've gotta start charging for my services. At least it's easy to reset once the tattoo's in place."

"Unless Cora has her own horse, someone's gonna have to share again," Scott pointed out, poking Stiles' ribs.

Stiles aimed a rude gesture at Scott.

~*~

Cora wanted a tattoo similar to Stiles' and Derek's – the secret Hale family symbol – but over her heart instead of anywhere else. Before he got started, Stiles stalled by asking Cora, "Is there anyone I would know who you know how to impersonate?"

"No," Cora snapped, pulling her shirt up over her head.

Flicking his eyes upward, so he wouldn't look at her breasts while Derek was right there, waiting to kill him if he did, Stiles sighed. "No one? What about…" Stiles looked around at the group of them and wondered who would fit in. "What about Lady Lydia Martin? Do you know her?"

"Vaguely." Cora rolled her eyes.

Stiles grinned and looked up again before his gaze wandered too far down. "Great. Awesome. Let's get started."

Stiles grabbed the ink he'd prepared and his needle, dipping the needle into the ink. Man, this was going to take longer than they really had time for, if she wanted a tattoo just like Stiles'. He'd etched his into the (oh, gods _painfully_ sensitive) skin on the inside of his wrist over the course of a week. He had to do this in a matter of hours, less if possible. "Uh, could someone. Or maybe a couple of someones hold her? I don't want to get punched."

"I said I was sorry," Scott insisted, stepping behind Cora. Then Derek pushed him out of the way and sat behind Cora, wrapping his arms around hers.

Stiles met Derek's eyes – his real eyes for the first time in days – and asked, "You ready?"

"Just do it, moron," Cora replied.

"You know," Stiles pressed his needle to Cora's skin, keeping his eyes focused exclusively on the one patch of skin he was allowed, "that's the first time I've been called a moron by a princess."

Cora scoffed, but when Stiles looked up, she had this odd mixed expression on her face. One edge of her lips quirked up in a smirk, but her brows furrowed together. "Must be a big day for you, then."

"Totally." Stiles dipped his needle into more ink. "I'm sorry if this hurts. I don't have time to go slow."

"I can take it," Cora insisted. When Stiles pressed the next bit of ink into her skin, weaving his magic into it, she flinched, but Derek held her steady. 

When the spell was done, when Cora looked like Lydia, when Derek looked like Danny again, when Aiden and Ethan could no longer be detected as werewolves, they packed up. Cora said goodbye to her friends – none of whom apologized for attacking them, by the way – and then they moved on. This time, Scott sat with Stiles, holding him on the saddle while he fought the fatigue of doing too many spells in a row. Cora took Stiles' horse, jumping up onto her easily. Stiles tried not to feel jealous of the way Cora and Derek rode side-by-side in front of them.

As their now-one-more-larger group approached the capital, they came across more and more villages and Stiles noticed that they ley lines also grew stronger and more dense as they went forward. Deaton had never mentioned the phenomenon, even though Stiles knew from Derek that Deaton used to live in the capital. Did he miss the easy access to this much power? It made Stiles want to breathe deep to draw in all the magic, though he restrained himself as best he could. 

_"Too much magic is much worse than too little, Stiles,"_ Deaton's voice said in Stiles' mind. Maybe Deaton left the capital because he feared burning out on the glut of magic here.

Maybe these lines hadn't been here when Deaton lived here. Stiles knew ley lines could shift and migrate, even appear and disappear, depending on how magic moved through the earth. The telluric currents that carried the ley lines were much like rivers that way. If an obstacle presented itself, the current would shift and flow around it.

But what could draw so much magic toward the capital?

Before Stiles could really think it through, they reached the high gates delineating the outer edge of the city proper. Though there were guards manning the gate, they didn't stop Stiles or anyone else in his party. Inside the city, traffic grew tight, so Stiles rode practically knee-to-knee with Allison on his left and Scott on his right. Ethan parted the crowd ahead of them, while Aiden and Derek brought up the rear as well. No offense to either Allison or Scott, but Stiles would rather have Derek next to him, where he could keep an eye on the prince and make sure his disguise stayed in place.

The problem was, Stiles couldn't figure out how to voice his concern in a venue where he knew other werewolves were listening.

By the time they reached the palace, Stiles felt annoyed and frustrated from holding his tongue. Add onto that the fatigue he still felt from working about a million spells that morning, and from holding back what just about amounted to an onslaught of magic welling up from the ground beneath the city, and Stiles was ready to bite someone's head off. Human teeth or not.

The guards shepherded Stiles' party through the palace gates, down from their horses, and into the palace itself. Surprisingly, King Peter met them in the front room, rather than a grand throne room like Stiles would have expected. Stiles had never met the man in person, but having seen more than a few likenesses would have tipped him off. As it was, the giant crown on Peter's head did a good job indicating his rank. 

"Greetings, Your Majesty," Stiles said, bowing his head and taking a knee to show respect he didn't feel. Stiles didn't really feel like losing his head, so he kept with the rules proprietary expected of him. After all, how was he supposed to demand things from the King, as his father had instructed him to, without first gaining his good will? "Ah, the younger Lord Stilinski. We've been expecting you." King Peter paced in front of the whole group, pausing at each of them in turn. "We have to admit, we did not know you would bring more than a bare-bones contingent with you. Your father's letter suggested you would need accommodation for two companions."

"Ah, yes," Stiles said with an awkward laugh, his eyes still on the carpet as Peter walked back toward him. "We kept running into old friends. You know how it is, Your Majesty."

"No," Peter replied, "I can't say that I do." Peter's feet wandered away from Stiles and toward where Cora held a deep, impressive-looking curtsey. "Lady Lydia. I have to say, I'm not accustomed to seeing you in such plain vestments."

Stiles shuddered at the leering tone in King Peter's voice.

Without hesitation, Cora replied, "We hit a spot of trouble in the woods beyond Reyes Valley, Your Majesty. After my frock was ruined, Lieutenant D'Or," Cora nodded to Allison, which impressed Stiles. He didn't catch Cora learning his people's names. Of course, he'd kind of passed out for an hour or two, so maybe he should expect to have more gaps in his knowledge. "Offered one of her spare sets of clothing. I have to say, I enjoy the soldier look much more than I thought I would."

Cora didn't quite have Lydia's speech patterns down, but she was much closer than Stiles would have guessed. What, had Queen Talia taught all her children how to flawlessly impersonate their peers?

"I can't say it suits you," King Peter practically spat, his tone making Stiles' hackles rise. "Get up. It's craning my neck to look down at all of you."

Stiles stood and met Peter's eyes for the first time, giving Peter his best smile and a cheerful nod. "If space here in the castle is tight, some of my people can stay in the barracks. Uh, if that suits Your Majesty." Whatever happened, Stiles knew he had to keep Derek close, even if it meant sending Scott and Allison away for the night.

"No, no," Peter replied, walking further back into the castle and waving Stiles forward. "It's quite alright, Lord Stilinski. I find the castle too empty these days, what with my sister's family all dead, and my nephew to blame for it."

Stiles had to work very hard not to cut his eyes back toward Derek. Instead, Stiles cleared his throat. "Ah. Yes, our home felt some degree of that emptiness when my mother passed. It certainly took longer than two years for that feeling to go away."

Peter gave Stiles a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Thank you for your expertise. Stiles, was it?"

"Y-yes, Your Majesty," Stiles replied, not really liking the King addressing him so informally, but it wasn't like he could argue the point. Not, most likely, without getting kicked out of the palace before he was able to complete his business here.

Stopping before a large set of doors, which a footman held open, King Peter paused. He turned back and told Stiles, "I believe you should deliver your father's message to me in private, don't you, Stiles?"

Gulping nervously before he could stop himself, Stiles looked back, first at Derek, then at Scott, then he let his gaze linger on Allison. Technically his second in command, all Stiles' orders went through her. "It's alright, Lieutenant," he told her, patting Allison's arm. "I'm perfectly safe in the company of the King."

"We won't be far," Allison replied with a nod first to the King, then to Stiles. The others, including Cora and Lydia's twins, followed her to the opposite side of the broad hallway as the footman ushered Stiles into the room. Stiles caught Derek's eyes one last time before the door closed, and he watched as Derek gave a slight nod.

Derek thought Stiles could do this, or maybe he thought Stiles could do this as long as he had a little encouragement. Whatever the nod meant, Stiles took the good feelings he got from the gesture and funneled them into doing what he needed to do.

King Peter crossed the room, which was appointed as a study, with bookshelves lining the walls and a thick desk in the center of the room. Peter ended up at a small sideboard, pouring liquor into a crystal glass. "Would you like one, Stiles?"

"Yes, please, Your Majesty," Stiles replied, with no intentions whatsoever to let his guard down around Peter. If Derek was right and Peter had killed his own family in order to be allowed the throne, that meant he was extremely dangerous. Not to mention the fact that Derek had all but said Peter was also a werewolf. The way the ley lines below the office bent as Peter moved told Stiles that his guess was not wrong. King Peter was soaked in magic, the kind of magic it took to transform one's' body into that of a monster. Stiles wondered if the King himself was responsible for the strange magical patterns plaguing the capital.

Well, Stiles had been friends with Scott before Scott got bit, and he'd stayed friends with Scott after The Bite as well. In fact, Stiles had been the one to figure out what Scott was turning into and how to keep from being eaten by him. If Stiles could tame a werewolf because he loved the guy like a brother, he could face off against a less-than-righteous king because he loved his country. And maybe he had some feelings for the people Peter had used as scapegoats.

Person, more than people, actually. Whatever.

Stiles took the drink Peter offered him, and then the seat he was asked to sit in. Peter sat on the other side of the desk, sipping his drink. Stiles wondered why he would ever drink something this noxious when it couldn't make him drunk. Well, Stiles' father liked coffee, so he supposed people all had their weird proclivities. 

"So," Peter said, leaning back in his chair and wrapping his long fingers around his glass. "What message required sending the Lord Stilinski's son to deliver it? Usually our Royal messengers are more than trustworthy with sensitive information."

"True." Stiles nodded and pretended to take a sip of his drink. "We in Stilinski were honored to receive your request, Majesty, but Lord Stilinski regrets that he cannot comply at this time."

Peter frowned and thumbed at the edge of his glass. "I was afraid you were going to say that. Tell me, at what time would Lord Stilinski be willing to _lend_ me the troops he owes me as his liege."

"I'm sorry, Majesty," Stiles said, holding firm even though he really just wanted to sigh and go to bed and have this conversation in the morning. "But, Lord Stilinski requires definitive proof that the Argentians were responsible for Queen Talia's death, and proof that the Queen's two surviving children, Laura and Derek, were either directly involved in the plot that caused the Royal family's death, or that they themselves are dead, before he agrees to recognize your authority."

"That's outrageous." Peter's voice remained steady, but Stiles could feel the magic around Peter begin to swell and flow about, creating eddies and swirls. The only time Stiles felt anything similar was when Scott shifted while standing directly on a ley line. Was Peter preparing to shift into a more powerful werewolf than Stiles had ever seen?

Stomach dropping with dread, Stiles grasped as much of the pulsing, vibrating magic under the earth as he could without showing it on his face.

Peter, however, continued to speak like nothing had changed. "The peerage accepted the true course of events three years ago. Just because your father holds the loyalty of the majority of this country's soldiers does not give him free license to ignore justice."

"Believe me, Your Majesty," Stiles insisted, holding out a placating hand, palm to Peter. "There's no one more invested in justice than Lord Stilinski. It's just … well, the evidence he saw at the trials didn't convince him. You'll note his dissenting vote when parliament considered the matter. Just because you spent a lifetime courting favors from the majority of the peers in this country, doesn't give you free license to ignore justice either, Your Majesty."

Despite the fact that he was fairly certain he was about to lose his head, Stiles drew on whatever shred of strength he had left to make sure Peter didn't know how scared he was. Stiles couldn't affect the rapid beating of his heart, but he could hold his chin high and sit up straight and not give Peter the satisfaction of staring him down.

After clenching his jaw for a moment and setting down his glass, Peter took a sharp breath. Stiles flinched, though Peter did nothing more than push his glass away. "So be it." Peter gave Stiles a sharp-toothed grin and pushed back from the table before standing up. Stiles quickly stood up as well. "While you haven't given me the answer I was hoping for, I can respect your father's concerns." 

Peter circled around the desk, the air around him tense with coiled magic, ready to spring. It made Stiles' hair stand on end and he had to lock his muscles to keep from flinching away when Peter reached out and put his hand on Stiles' shoulder. "But, just because we're at odds on this issue doesn't mean we can't have a lovely time together. And, perhaps with enough convincing on my part, I can get you to change your father's mind."

"I look forward to being convinced, Your Majesty," Stiles said, his tongue thick and dry in his mouth. He calculated how much magic it would take to stop a werewolf when he only had the few inches between them to work with. The glut of power under Stiles' feet could very well make it turn out in Stiles' favor, but Stiles didn't even want it to come to that.

And then it didn't. Peter showed Stiles to the door and said, "Until tomorrow, Lord Stilinski. Prepare to be convinced." The teeth in Peter's mouth looked sharp when he smiled at Stiles, but did not look fang-like. 

Stiles joined Allison, Scott, and Derek, who'd been waiting for him like Allison promised they would, and all of them followed one of the royal servants through the castle. Cora, and Lydia's twins joined them at the staircase upward, and Stiles found himself surprised when Derek took his hand. Maybe they were still playing lovers for Ethan's sake, but maybe Stiles caught a furrowed-brow expression dance over Derek's (Danny's) face, which made Stiles think Derek took his hand as a matter of comfort, not as a matter of preserving their ruse.

When they reached their chambers, several suites along one corridor, Stiles tightened his grip on Derek's hand. "Stick close," he whispered in Derek's ear. Stiles was fairly certain that these servants were human and couldn't hear him, but he wasn't sure, so he didn't say more. So many of the royal guards he'd met along his trip had been werewolves, that Stiles began to see them where they didn't exist.

Derek nodded, squeezing Stiles' hand in return. They watched Allison assign rooms: "Danny" with Stiles in the largest room, Scott by himself, Allison and Cora together, and the twins in their own room. As Derek closed the heavy door behind them, Stiles took in the room as he turned around to face Derek.

Tilting his head, Derek was silent for a moment before saying, "They can't hear us."

"Not even the twins? How do you _know_?" Stiles rose a skeptical eyebrow.

"Because I can't hear them," he said simply, all but collapsing down into a chair that sat beside the small table just inside the room. "I thought Peter was going to kill you."

"I thought so too," Stiles admitted, taking the seat on the other side of the table. He watched Derek scowl with Danny's face and itched to break the spell that disguised Derek's face. Stiles _could_ do it, but he'd need a fresh supply of ingredients if he was going to redo the spell before anyone saw Derek and recognized him. Better just to leave Danny's face where it was, at least until Stiles figured out whether Peter was going to kill him or not. "It would make a pretty graphic message to my father."

"Your father probably doesn't believe a king would get his hands dirty with a nobleman's blood."

"I also doubt my father, or anyone besides you and your sister, knows the truth about King Peter. His hands are plenty dirty without my blood on them."

"I won't let him kill you, you know." Derek met Stiles' gaze with a look so intense, it made Stiles' neck and ears burn. "I won't let him kill anyone else."

Smirking, Stiles asked, "Not even the Argentians?"

"Maybe a select few." Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned forward. "I have to clear my name, Stiles. I need proof that Peter isn't who he says he is."

"We'll find it," Stiles assured Derek, even though he had no idea where or even how to look for such information. Maybe Allison would have a better idea. She could be very clever and elusive when she wanted to be. "We won't leave until everyone knows what Peter has done."

Derek opened his mouth like he was about to speak, but then paused. "After a few seconds of sitting there with his mouth open, Derek closed his mouth and shook his head. "The guards have passed, now. I think those guards are human, but I didn't get a good whiff of them."

"I'm not sure I'd ever want a good whiff of the King's guards," Stiles replied with a chuckle. His head felt cloudy and unfocused, and he couldn't be surprised about that fact. It had been a hell of a day.

He must have looked it, too, because Derek said, "Get some sleep. I'll sleep on the floor."

Stiles barked with laughter, despite his fatigue. "Yeah, right. Okay. If anyone here should be sleeping on the floor, prince-boy, it's me, but hell if I'm giving up a soft mattress after the day I've had. We can share."

"I couldn't," Derek said, looking away from Stiles. "The floor is fine. Besides, I'll be keeping watch."

"You can hold my hand and make eyes at me all day, but you can't keep watch next to me in a giant bed with room to spare? Ouch." Stiles smirked and sat down on the edge of the bed facing Derek. Stiles undid the lacings on his boots and shoved them off his feet, waiting for Derek to stop hovering near the door and make a decision. "I swear, I'll keep my hands to myself."

Derek murmured something under his breath before sighing. "Fine." Derek, making a frown that Stiles had never seen on Danny's face until Derek started wearing it, set a chair in front of the door. He then walked toward the bed, loosening the laces at his throat.

Stiles swallowed against the dryness in his mouth and busied himself with getting into the bed. While the days grew warmer and warmer, Stiles felt grateful for the heavy blankets on the bed and the fire burning low in the hearth. They enveloped him as he settled into the mattress with a sigh.

Derek pulled back the covers on the side of the bed further from the door and got in. He settled the covers around himself and laid down, staring steadfastly at the ceiling. 

Stiles briefly wondered if Derek would rather have the side close to the door, but quickly decided he didn't care. "I'm never going to move," he told Derek, wiggling around to see if it was possible to be any more comfortable.

Derek snorted, but he didn't otherwise answer. Stiles found himself drifting off as he waited for a reply that never came.

~*~

Stiles woke up with Danny’s face pressed into his shoulder and Scott hovering over him. “Stiles!”

“Murhm?” Stiles asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and shrugging Derek off of him. A second glance at Scott’s face made Stiles’ heart skip into a fast, unsteady rhythm. “What’s going on?”

“The King,” Scott said, looking over Stiles’ shoulder as Derek stirred, “invited us for a trip out into the country. His very-werewolf-smelling servant said we’re supposed to dress for a picnic.”

“All of us?” Derek asked from behind Stiles. His hair was pressed to one side and he had his feet off the other side of the bed, his body twisted around to face Scott. The tattoo on Derek’s back had been disguised by the spell (after all, if it was a family symbol, Stiles didn’t want anyone recognizing it), and its absence made Stiles want to frown.

Scott nodded. “He specifically said everyone is to come. Even ‘Lydia’ and her twins.”

“Sounds like a party.” Stiles grimaced as he stood, heading for his bags and a fresh change of clothes. Instead, he found all of his clothes missing, and a new set hanging in the wardrobe. “When did this happen?” he asked, pointing at the wardrobe and looking back at Derek. “I trusted you to watch my back while I was out of it, but someone was in here.”

“Relax,” Derek replied, standing and stretching his arms over his head. “I met the servant at the door. All of our things were unsuitable for the King’s presence. There’s nothing wrong with them.”

“Yeah, except _everything_ ,” Stiles cried, reaching out to poke at the clothes. “This fabric is so stiff and scratchy. That’s all I’m going to be able to think about all day!”

“Stiles,” Scott said, walking up to Stiles and taking the clothes in hand. “They’re fine. Nothing wrong with them, I swear. You just don’t like getting dressed up.”

Stiles frowned at Scott, but grabbed the clothes close to his chest anyway. “While it makes me feel better that you’ve deemed them safe, I’m still not happy about it.”

Stiles got dressed in the small washroom off the bedroom, and when he came out again, Derek wore a similar set of clothes, but in colors which contrasted with Stiles’ clothes. “We look like a matched set,” Stiles told Derek, noticing that Scott had left. Eying his belt full of useful, magical things, Stiles picked out the previous day's fern-ash-ink and his tattoo needle, stashing them in one of his pockets. A few more packets of various herbs and useful things stashed about his person made Stiles feel marginally better about being in clothes that didn't belong to him.

“Think of it like a uniform,” Derek replied, approaching Stiles and reaching forward carefully. When Stiles nodded, Derek took Stiles’ collar in hand and straightened it. “Us against him.”

Derek leaned even closer, brows furrowed at the way Stiles had laced a gold-threaded cable through the loop at his shoulder, and Stiles couldn’t help but catch his lips in a kiss. Derek stayed for a moment, and Stiles might have imagined the way he returned the kiss, pressing back gently. But then Derek jerked away, frown deep on his face as he cried, “What?”

“Sorry.” Stiles’ stomach ached in his belly and his chest hurt at the enormity of the mistake he’d just committed. “Sorry, I just… got caught up in it, you know?”

“No,” Derek said, his brows furrowed, but his eyes a little wider than normal as he studied Stiles’ face.

“Okay.” Stiles nodded and clapped his hands together. “I’m gonna go throw up now, because I’ve obviously made an incredible mistake. See ya later.”

As Stiles moved away, back toward the washroom, Derek grabbed Stiles’ wrist. “It wasn't.”

Not quite sure what Derek meant, Stiles shook his head, lifting his brows.

“A _mistake_. It wasn't a mistake.” Derek let go of Stiles’ wrist. “You have exceptionally ill timing. I don't _look_ like myself. My Uncle is up to _something_. I need to _focus_.”

“And I’m a big old distraction.” Stiles nodded. He still felt like he might want to die of embarrassment, but there was a glimmer of hope now, where there wasn’t before, and Stiles would hold onto that hope for all it was worth. “I get it. Consider it forgotten. Never happened.” Derek stayed silent while Stiles watched him for a moment longer, then turned toward the door. Stiles put his hand on the doorknob before Derek murmured, “Thank you.”

Stiles took a deep breath and opened the door. Time to face the monster-king, and probably come out poorly on the other side, maybe even dead. Well, the good thing was, if King Peter did kill Stiles, at least he’d never have to look Derek in the eye again.

~*~

Stiles had forgotten that he still had a role to play in this giant farce of a situation – that of “Danny’s” lover. If he tried to avoid looking Derek in the eye again, Peter would know something was wrong. Just the slightest inkling of deception, and Peter might have him tried for treason. Hell, if he found out the Fugitive Prince was right under his nose, Peter might kill them all without a second thought.

So, Stiles held Derek’s hand. He allowed Derek to kiss his cheek. He let Derek help him up onto his horse – even though he was perfectly capable of doing it by himself. Stiles held Derek’s hand when they arrived at the picnic site and fought the urge to kiss Derek again while he could get away with it.

Stiles lost the fight when King Peter said, jovially with a cup of wine clutched in his hand, “What a delightful companion you have, Lord Stilinski. I don't suppose you'd be willing to sh–"

"No." The word slipped out before Stiles could hold it back. Standing up to the king was bad enough, but Stiles interrupted him as well. "Apologies, Your Majesty. I don't mean to offend. It's just, I'm..." Stiles held back a wince as he thought up the best way to dance around the fact that "Danny" was actually the King's nephew and the thought of Peter touching Derek made Stiles want to vomit. "I'm so very in love, you see." Stiles needed to sell the statement, so he pressed his lips to Derek's.

When Stiles drew back, he found himself yet again surprised to be faced with a man who looked like Danny, rather than one who looked like Derek. It probably didn't help that for the most part, Derek didn't act much like Danny. Stiles still couldn't figure out how Derek had convinced Lord Jackson he was Jackson's old friend, though Stiles was leaning toward Jackson's complete self-involvement being heavily implicated.

Derek smiled softly at Stiles, likely playing his part as best he could, and Stiles felt angry at being deprived of Derek's actual smile. The ache settled in his chest and Stiles felt it distracting him from the loose hold he kept on the magic around them. Luckily, this far out of town the magic wasn't so concentrated that his momentary slip lead to becoming overwhelmed by it. The ache did spread to Stiles' head, and his bones, and Stiles had to give Derek just the slightest of smiles before looking away. He played it off as appearing coy, though he took the second or two the act bought him to ground himself and regain control.

"I see," King Peter said, putting a morsel of bread into his mouth and chewing on it slowly. After he swallowed, Peter continued, "I've never understood romantic love. Finding yourself bound to just one person for the rest of your life? Rather an odd notion, don't you think?"

Stiles kept his eyes down. "I don't know, Your Majesty. I think maybe a month ago, I would have agreed with you, but–" Stiles looked up and met Derek's eyes, finding them quickly, like Derek had been watching him ever since their kiss broke. Stiles cleared his throat. "But not anymore."

"I hope you're right about that, Stiles." Peter sighed. "You know the lords of the realm have been on me to marry and produce an heir. I just can't seem to find an appropriate bride. And oh, how I've _looked_!"

Stiles wondered if "appropriate" meant someone who wouldn't mind the fact that King Peter was a werewolf – the very type of creature he'd been so adamant at hunting down. It was no wonder he hadn't found a wife yet. Giving the king a pleasant smile, Stiles said, "I'm sure you'll find someone lovely very soon, Your Majesty."

"Your mouth to the gods' ears." Peter smirked and raised an eyebrow along with his glass. Stiles suddenly saw the family resemblance between Derek and his uncle. It made Stiles want to give the king a different face, one that didn't look anything like Derek. He actually started thinking up plans to sneak a tattoo onto Peter's body somewhere he wouldn't notice it until he remembered. As soon as Peter shifted into this werewolf form, his new face would disappear.

A voice whispered in the back of Stiles' head, _Better just to get rid of him altogether_. Stiles had to admit that the voice wasn't exactly wrong, but how was he supposed to get away with killing _the King_?

"So, Stiles," Peter said next, his tone light. It made Stiles' hackles rise. "I hear that you're becoming quite the illusionist. Odd that a lord's first son would take up wizardry."

"It might be," Stiles agreed, carefully pulling in a little more power, in case Peter asked for a demonstration. "I can't say we're too preoccupied with appearing odd all the way out on the western coast."

"Obviously not." Peter smirked. "It's no wonder your father chose not to go to war. The Stilinskis find frivolous magics more intriguing than serious matters of state."

"I wouldn't go as far as that, Your Majesty," Stiles said between his teeth. He kept his outward calm, but found himself drawing in more and more magic. Stiles let some of it go before he did something stupid, like set the king on fire. "We spend much of our time defending the coastline. Without my father's armies protecting your back, the Argentian navy would overrun this country within the year."

Peter laughed. "Coastline squabbles hardly amount to an invasion, my young friend. And my, you _are_ young, aren't you?"

Stiles raised an eyebrow at King Peter.

"So young and so _very_ sickeningly in love."

Stiles watched Peter carefully, shuddering at the way the King's eyes traveled over his body. Beside Stiles, magic began to waft from Derek. It felt like that same roiling, uneasy scent of power Stiles had felt from Peter the evening before. Stiles put a hand on Derek's wrist and squeezed it. They couldn't go after Peter now. They had to get proof of his treason before attacking him. Derek _couldn't_ shift and reveal his true identity. 

Peter must have noticed Derek go still, because his eyes left Stiles and settled at meeting Derek's eyeline. Derek didn't look away.

Trying to break the tension of the moment and prevent himself from getting killed by Derek's stupidity, Stiles chuckled. "Yeah, sickeningly in love. That's it, Your Majesty. That's it, exactly."

"Danny." Peter ignored Stiles, his eyes staring fixedly at Derek. "Would you say you are _also_ sickeningly in love?"

Words escaping between clenched teeth, Derek answered, "Yes."

Peter smiled, but didn't look away. "That's _it_? 'Yes'? Where's your fervor? Where's your declaration of undying love? Or are you just in this for the prestige? It's okay. Perfectly understandable motivation. My brother-in-law was excellent at feigning love for my sister. It's no wonder his children turned out to be liars and traitors."

Stiles struggled to keep a straight face, but his efforts were stymied by the way the magic around him turned course toward Derek. Eyes widening, Stiles turned his head to watch as Derek's disguise melted away behind glowing blue eyes and sharp fangs. Stiles whipped his gaze back to King Peter, who didn't look nearly as surprised to see his nephew as he should have.

"Hello, Derek."

"Peter." Derek growled, edging forward. 

Stiles gripped as much magic as he could handle, trying to figure out how to best use it to keep everyone from getting killed. Keeping most of his attention on Peter, Stiles took stock of the situation the way in which his father had trained him. Peter had brought five uniformed guards with him, but Stiles only saw three. Unfortunately, all three _changed_ , their faces morphing into more canine shapes.

Scott and Allison and the twins stood back, on Allison's commanding gesture. Cora, however, did not obey. She came up next to Derek, her disguise melting away as she shifted into her werewolf form. "Uncle," she snapped.

"Cora!" Peter cried, smiling. "You survived the fire!"

"No thanks to you," she sneered, her teeth long and deadly-looking in her mouth. "I thought maybe it was parliament, but no. _Your_ men have been _killing_ our kind left and right since the fire. How could you betray all of us like this?"

Peter frowned sympathetically and tilted his head. "Aw. The poor little princess thinks she knows how the world works. What do you think would happen if the parliament found out _I_ am a werewolf? Do you think they'd show mercy? Or would they take my– _our_ throne?" Peter scoffed. "Don't be an idealist like your mother."

Derek growled and the magic around him shuddered as he shifted further away from his human form. Peter slowly drew more magic as well, but his appearance didn't change.

Aside from the pants-wetting terror of the moment, one thought kept running through Stiles head. _No evidence. No evidence. Peter's going to win. No evidence._

When Derek didn't charge, Peter's grin widened. "Ah, see, Cora? Your brother knows I'm right. The only way to preserve our throne was a genocide of sorts. The more werewolves we hunt down, the less suspicion falls on our family."

"On _you_ , you mean," Cora spat, edging forward. Stiles watched as Peter's werewolf guards began edging toward Stiles' people. Allison met Stiles' eyes and gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Scott had his back to Allison, but his eyes trained on the guard closest to him. "You _killed_ everyone else!"

"A necessary evil–"

"That's _insane_." Derek took several quick steps forward, not quite bridging the distance between him and Peter. Stiles heard a grunt and a yell behind him, but he didn't dare look away. Allison and Scott could take care of themselves. Derek was the one courting disaster from a werewolf pulling in more magic than Stiles would have thought possible. "And what about Princess Katherine? Did you pull her into this madness, too?"

" _Hardly_." Peter scoffed, his eyes glowing bright red. "She came to me. You _disgusted_ her, Derek. Didn't you know? She was _never_ going to marry you. An Argent marrying a Hale?" Peter laughed, a loud bark, and Derek finally lunged.

The amount of power Peter drew in all of a sudden made Stiles gasp. He reacted reflexively and jumped toward Derek, though Derek was too far out of reach at that point. Taking his second-best shot, Stiles caught Cora by an arm and clamped his hand over her eyes. He barely got his eyes shut before letting out a sharp blast of light. He channeled as much magic, as fast as he could, into the spell, letting go when he felt like he needed to gasp for air or be sucked down into the ley line beneath them.

Cora shook free and Stiles opened his eyes, staggering and dizzy as he tried to make sense of the world around him. Derek grappled blindly with a giant hulk of a monster – Peter – while one of the twins cried out, a werewolf guard on his chest. Before Stiles could move to help, the other twin tackled the guard, shoving him to the ground.

Behind Stiles, Scott crouched, blinking and rubbing his eyes, while Allison had out her knives, her back to Scott, protecting him from the werewolf growling at them. Two of the other guards stumbled into each other, while the fifth and final guard headed straight for Stiles. “Oh, crap!”

Turning tail, Stiles ran toward Scott and Allison, leaving Derek to fight Peter with only Cora’s help. The guard’s feet fell heavily behind Stiles, catching up to him quickly. Stiles grasped for more power, but it slipped through his metaphorical fingers like so much water, so he fell back on the training his father had given him and rolled forward. He pulled a knife out of its sheath in his boot and held it out as he whipped around to face the werewolf. 

The werewolf stopped short at the sight and scoffed with laughter. Holding up his hand, fingers splayed out and claws wickedly on display, he said, “Mine are bigger.”

“Not arguing you on that one,” Stiles replied. He kept his eyes on the werewolf as he backed toward Scott and Allison, hoping one of them could come to his aid. He spared a quick glance back at them, finding Scott recovered and in battle with a mean-looking female werewolf while Allison fought another. By the time Stiles got his eyes back to the werewolf in front of him, the werewolf had advanced on him, close enough to take a swing.

Stiles jumped backward and lost his footing, falling down to the ground and barely managing to avoid stabbing himself with his knife. The werewolf drew one arm up and began to swing it down at Stiles, when suddenly a giant tackled him to the ground.

Stiles didn't recognize this new werewolf! Was it Peter? Why would he attack his own man? But no, Derek and Cora both fought against a very large, very wolfish-looking alpha several yards away. This one looked mostly human, but clearly bigger than anyone who should have been in that clearing with them.

Stiles looked around again and saw that there were two figures conspicuously absent – the twins. Where could they have gone if not… No, that was too weird to think about while his life was on the line. 

One of the guards was down, his throat ripped out by one of Lydia’s twins; the second and third kept Scott and Allison busy; the fourth was under the giant werewolf, trying to push it off of him using his feet; and the fifth guard, recovered from Stiles’ spell, headed toward him. This time when Stiles reached for the magic he needed, he found it easily, pulling it up and through him. 

Stiles wasn't very good at what Deaton called “fighting magic” but he did know one spell that might save his ass. Pulling heat from the air and stoking it with magic, Stiles formed a fireball. He threw it at the werewolf attacking him, and it managed to glance off her shoulder. Skin singed, the werewolf screamed and renewed her drive toward Stiles. Thinking he’d never, ever seen fangs that scary, Stiles gasped in fear and threw another fireball. This one didn't have as much power to it, but it hit the werewolf in the face, burning her skin and setting the hair on her cheeks alight.

Screaming again, the werewolf used her good arm to smother the flames, which gave enough time for Stiles to get a good grip on his knife and close the distance between them. He plunged his knife into the werewolf’s chest and left it there as he skittered out of reach of her flailing claws. She fought after him for another moment before falling face-down to the ground.

A sharp crack assaulted Stiles’ ears from his left, and he looked over to see the giant with its adversary’s head in its hands. The head was twisted around wrong, and Stiles came to the conclusion that the giant had snapped the werewolf’s neck.

Past the giant and its nauseating display of strength, Stiles saw that Allison was losing ground in her fight, taking a hit that almost knocked her silly before dropping and placing a well-aimed kick to her werewolf’s crotch. Scott had his opponent down on the ground, trading blows with him in a fight that looked like it might last a while. Scott had never had to kill anyone (not that Stiles had either before a few seconds ago), and Stiles felt sure that he wouldn't bring himself to do it.

When the giant dropped its prey and headed toward Allison, helping her with her fight, Stiles turned back toward Derek, Cora, and Peter.

All three of them traded blows like experts, dancing around each other and causing a lot of damage with little effort, if their blows were all placed as well as Stiles thought they might be. He also wondered how the hell you placed a blow on a giant alpha werewolf and got it to do any harm, but maybe Derek did, because he seemed to be moving with purpose.

It didn't seem to help, though, when Peter shoved his claws so far into Derek's chest that Stiles could see the points of the claws sticking out the back of his jacket. Derek's body seized up, and then fell lifeless to the ground when Cora jumped on Peter's back, making Peter let go so he could fight her.

Gasping for air, Stiles ran forward, dropping to Derek's side. Derek lay there, his eyes open and growing dull. "No!"

Turning to watch Peter catch Cora by one ankle and throw her across the clearing, Stiles repeated himself. "No! Derek, no!"

The monster behind Stiles laughed. Stiles turned to face him as Peter spoke. "What did you think would happen here _Stilinski_? I'm _the alpha_. I've always _been_ the alpha. And I am _King_." Peter's red eyes flashed with color and he dropped down to all fours, stalking sinuously toward Stiles.

Stiles fought the urge to scramble away from Peter, instead moving so that his body shielded Derek’s. He tried to tell himself that Derek was dead, that Derek was gone, and that Stiles should save his own ass, but his body didn’t listen. Stiles’ mouth went arid and he swallowed against the cottony feel of terror. 

In a last-ditch effort, Stiles pulled so much magic that it burned, he pulled it until his veins felt like they were filled with acid and his stomach filled with lead. His body worn out by all the spells he’d already done, Stiles ended up pulling just a paltry amount of power. As he released the magic, with no particular focus or plan, it broke against Peter like waves against shore.

Peter snarled and shook, but he didn’t stop moving forward, increasing pace as he closed the distance between him and Stiles. As he came, Peter’s teeth grew longer, his body more imposing, and his eyes deeper red. The king became a nightmare come to life, in the middle of the day, and Stiles couldn’t wake up. Knowing that this was the end, Stiles hunched over Derek’s lifeless body, content in the fact that if he was going out, at least he wasn’t going out alone. Slipping his hand into Derek’s, Stiles allowed himself to whisper something, any sort of final words that might give his entire life meaning. “I loved you.”

Derek’s hand in Stiles’ twitched. And then it gripped Stiles’ hand, pressure steadily increasing. Just before Peter hit them, Derek sprang back to life, rolling them over so his body lay on top of Stiles’ for the split second before Peter batted Derek away. Derek’s hand was the last part of his body to lose contact with Stiles, wrenching Stiles’ hand as the inertia of the blow broke their mutual hold.

Peter paused, looking back and forth between Derek, who used the force of the hit to roll himself up into a crouch, and Stiles, who laid back to the ground, his mouth open in surprise. Derek was alive!

Before Stiles could process the event further, Cora attacked Peter again, ripping at one of his arms with her claws. Looking around, Stiles saw that Allison crouched over Scott, who looked bloodied, but alive. There were no signs of the giant werewolf, and all of Peter’s men were either dead or crawling brokenly away.

Peter was the only one left.

Stiles still had his life!

The way Stiles figured it, there was no way Peter was letting them live if they could help it. If they managed to overpower him, no one would believe their word over his. If they didn't kill him, here and now, everything was already over. Even then, coming out of this with their heads still on their shoulders would be a near thing.

Stiles watched Derek rush forward to help his sister. He watched Derek get close to doing Peter some real damage, but Derek's blows kept being deflected before that damage could happen. Stiles had to help. Somehow, Stiles had to distract Peter. Stiles had to give Derek the opening he needed to make a strike. 

Stiles could do some illusions, but besides the bright flash, he didn't really have anything very _distracting_ in his repertoire. Actually, the illusion he'd had the most practice in lately was changing one person's face for another. Stiles patted his pockets, looking for the inkpot he'd stashed there earlier that morning. He found it, along with the tattoo needle pinned in a scrap of leather.

Approaching noises made Stiles look up just in time to scramble out of the way of Peter chasing after Derek, with Cora hanging onto Peter's back, biting his shoulder savagely. When Stiles was able to collect himself, he looked down at his hands to find the scrap of leather gone!

Dancing out of the way when the three werewolves came back, Stiles searched the ground around his feet, looking for that needle. If only he could find it, he knew the perfect disguise to mark into his skin, a disguise that was sure to throw Peter off balance and give Derek some advantage.

Peter threw Cora again, and this time Stiles couldn't get out of the way fast enough. She slammed into him, knocking both of them to the ground. Stiles got a pretty nasty elbow to his ribcage, taking his breath away with the sharp ache of it. After Cora scrambled away again without so much as a "how do you do", Stiles pressed his ribs with one hand. The point of impact was sore, but pressure didn't cause any sharp pains, so Stiles got up on his hands and knees and began searching again.

"Stiles!" Allison cried, falling down next to him, Scott half a second later on Stiles' other side. "Are you hurt?"

"No," he replied, crawling forward, his eyes searching over every scrap of grass and mud. "I dropped my needle."

"Is this really the time for sewing?" Scott asked, though when Stiles spared his friend a glance, Scott's eyes roved over the ground under him.

Stiles scoffed and crawled further toward where he thought he might have dropped it. "My _tattoo_ needle. I've got a plan."

Cora landed on the ground beside them, her face a mess of deep claw marks from her nose all the way down and back to the corner of her jawbone. She groaned and twitched, but didn't get up again. 

Scott pressed a hand to Cora's arm, checking on her, and then scrambled to his feet. "I'll help Derek."

After he left, Allison helped Stiles continue his search. "We're losing," she said, hands skimming over the ground. "I have to get you out of here."

"What?" Stiles cried, looking over at Allison, who had half her attention on the ground, and split the other half between him and the werewolves fighting. "No! I'm not going to abandon Derek. Or Scott!"

"I don't want to leave Scott either, but he knows his duty." Allison met Stiles' eyes steadily, not backing down. 

Stiles stared back at her, his mouth dropping open. She really did want Stiles to abandon this fight and, what? Run back home to his father? Catalyze a civil war? "You go if you want to," he said, suddenly spotting a shard of sharpened rowan a few feet away. "I'm staying right here." Stiles scrambled forward and grabbed the scrap of leather with the needle still pinned through it.

Allison huffed, but she didn't try to stop him. Instead, she stood up, positioned herself between Stiles and the fighting werewolves, and drew her sword.

Trying to tune everything out, Stiles slipped the needle from its scrap of leather with shaking hands. The tips of his fingers felt cold and numb, like he might fumble the needle at any second, but he ignored the sensation. He had to keep going. He had to work this spell. Stiles had to kill the king.

Stiles chuckled ruefully as he opened his ink pot. Never would he have expected himself here, in this situation, trying to kill the freaking _king_. Lords' sons weren't supposed to commit treason! Of course, when faced with treason against a usurper or death, Stiles was pretty sure he'd pick treason every time.

Needle dipped into the ink, Stiles pulled back his left-hand sleeve. He thought about what he wanted to look like, _who_ he wanted to look like, and pressed the needle into his skin, right in the center of his spiral tattoo. 

This time, as the magic channeled through him, Stiles had to bite his lip to keep from screaming. He'd taken too much power, too fast. The channels in his mind _burned_ , but he powered through it, focused on one goal – help Derek.

And in order to help Derek, Stiles had to look like him. Once the spell set, Stiles dropped the ink. He dropped the needle. He dropped onto his hands, which no longer looked like his hands. Instead of the long, gangly fingers he was just starting to grow into, Stiles' fingers were now thick and a little stubby, but with long claws jutting out instead of nails. Stiles was pretty sure his illusion wouldn't make the claws functional, just like imitating a werewolf wouldn't give him super strength. However, their falseness sure didn't take away from their fantastic appearance.

Shaking off the last of his magic-induced pain, Stiles stood up. His voice sounding strange in his head, Stiles asked Allison, "So? How do I look?"

Allison looked back at him over her shoulder and shrieked. Her sword came down on Stiles, pausing just short of cutting into his neck. "Stiles?"

"Yes!" he cried, holding up his hands to show he wasn't going to attack her. "Allison, it's–" The fight behind Allison drew Stiles' attention. Peter sank his teeth into Cora's leg, making her scream raggedly. "I have to help!"

Allison lowered her sword. "If you get yourself killed, it's my head." When Stiles tried to go around her, Allison stepped in front of him.

"If I don't help, it's your head anyway." Stiles did his best approximation of Derek's scariest face.

Sighing, Allison stepped aside. "Let's go."

As they approached, Peter caught his claws in Derek’s jacket, rending it into pieces as Derek pulled himself away. Stiles looked down and realized that he was still wearing the “uniform” that matched Derek’s clothes. Now that Derek was throwing the tattered remains of his jacket and shirt to the ground, Stiles quickly shucked out of his, as well.

Stiles couldn't tell if the spell had given him Derek’s tattoo, but it hadn't disguised the now-familiar mark on Stiles’ wrist. Well, at least he could tell _himself_ apart from Derek! 

Pulling in magic like courage, Stiles gave his best impression of Derek’s battle-roar and threw himself into the fray. Cora gave Stiles a second glance, Scott picked himself up off the ground and ignored Stiles, while Peter stopped cold, punching the real Derek almost off-hand when he followed through with his last attack. To his credit, Derek didn’t seem to notice that Stiles wore his face.

As Stiles put himself near Cora and Scott, mostly for the protection they could give him, Peter circled them. “What’s this? _Another_ Fugitive Prince?” Peter laughed. “Isn’t this a treat! I’ll have the pleasure of ripping out my nephew’s heart twice over.”

Angered at the way Peter seemed to think he was invincible, Stiles stepped forward. “Oh, yeah? Well, guess what, Your _Majesty_. We’re not afraid of you! The throne is _ours_!”

In two leaping bounds, Peter closed the distance between him and Stiles, tackling Stiles to the ground. Before he could do much more than scratch Stiles’ shoulder with one claw, an arrow ran through Peter’s neck. Hot, thick blood sputtered down from the wound, all over Stiles’ face. Stiles stuck his knife between Peter’s ribs. 

The werewolf howled and rounded on Allison, only to be met with a powerful swipe against his face from the real Derek. Stiles scrambled out from under Peter. Another arrow whiffed past Stiles’ ear as he retreated, having missed Peter’s head. Shit. Peter was going to kill Allison!

“Hey! Uncle! Over here!” Stiles called.

“No, over here,” the real Derek cried from somewhere on Stiles’ right. Another arrow stuck in Peter’s shoulder, making him howl so loud Stiles thought he might go deaf from it.

Cora slid against Peter’s leg, biting a large chunk out of the back of his thigh and scrambling away again before he could hit her away. Scott ran a similar maneuver on Peter's other side, but he didn't get out of the way in time. Scott caught Peter's blow across his back, landing hard on the ground next to one of the dead werewolves. 

For one completely terrifying moment, Scott lay still and Stiles couldn't focus on anything other than whether or not Scott was still alive. In that moment, Peter got close enough to tackle Stiles again, holding him down with his back pressed into the ground and Peter's claws in his shoulders.

Stiles tried to strike at Peter with his knife, but with his shoulders pinned he couldn't quite reach the monster-king's stomach. Peter batted the weapon away, snarling, "A true Hale uses his claws and teeth. He does not rely on weapons."

Rage bubbling up in his throat and overpowering his fear, Stiles spat back, "So what else does a true Hale do? Kill all of his kin until he's the only one left? In that case, I'm glad I'm not a Hale."

His canine-shaped snout breathing hot, labored air against Stiles' face, Peter growled. "I'll tear out your throat!"

Clenching his eyes closed against the inevitability of Peter's jaws piercing his neck, Stiles gave survival one last-ditch effort. He took what little magic he had left and popped a flash of light right in Peter's face.

Miraculously, the werewolf howled in pain, his snout backing off a few inches. A squelching noise heralded one of Allison's arrows hitting Peter's face, and Stiles looked up to see blood raining down from the arrow embedded in Peter's right eye.

And then Derek slammed into Peter, knocking him away from Stiles. Derek's growl mixed with a loud rending noise. When Stiles rolled onto his side to see what had happened, he was met with the sight of Derek spitting blood and flesh onto the ground. Most of Peter's throat was missing and his uninjured eye stared straight ahead, no sign of the red light that signaled his power as alpha.

"Derek?" Stiles asked, rolling further to get his knees underneath him. Looking down, Stiles saw that his hands still weren't his own, and it seemed horribly disrespectful to meet a man who'd just killed his uncle with his own face.

Stiles broke the line of magic which kept the disguise intact and watched his hands return to normal. Before Stiles could ask after Derek again, Scott had his arms around Stiles, holding him tightly.

Voice brokenly vulnerable, Scott whispered, "Stiles."

"Scott." Stiles tiredly returned his friend's embrace, wrapping himself in the familiar Scott scent and the way it masked the stench of blood all around them. "You're not allowed to die like that."

Scott chuckled. "Got it."

When Scott finally let go, Allison wrapped Stiles' shirt and jacket around his shoulders, doing up the jacket buttons before giving him a sad, if relieved, look. Stiles took a short hug from her, which she allowed, and then he turned to face Derek.

Derek supported himself on one knee and one hand, eyes still down on Peter's lifeless form. Cora sat next to him, conspicuously not touching her brother. On second look, Stiles noticed Derek's back moving like drawing breath was the most difficult thing in the world. 

Stiles left Allison and approached Derek carefully, meeting Cora's eyes as he circled around them like one would around an injured dog. Better to make sure the dangerous beast saw you coming, rather than sneak up on it and get bit. Cora's eyes widened and she shook her head, carefully raising her hand and holding it out toward Stiles, begging him not to come any closer.

Stiles ignored her. Derek's eyes, flashing intermittently red, focused on the ground near Stiles' feet. Bloody claw marks ripped across his shoulder and face, and in a long line across one side, and Derek's lower face was soaked in blood. It should have looked terrifying. Stiles should have been fainting at the sight of this much blood. The gods knew he'd done so often enough before. 

Instead, Stiles' heart imploded in his chest, aching with worry for Derek. Senses dulled by how much magic he'd channeled during the course of one morning—during the course of one _week_ —Stiles almost missed the way the magic swirled around Derek, slamming against him from all sides. Derek held back whatever the magic wanted of him, but only just barely. Stiles could see the struggle on Derek's pained face.

There wasn't much choice but to crouch down in front of Derek, reaching forward carefully to put a hand on Derek's shoulder. Derek' whole body stiffened, but when he looked up and met Stiles' eyes, Derek relaxed.

"C'mon, big guy," Stiles said, letting his hand trail down Derek's shoulder and arm to his hand. Taking Derek's hand in his, Siles stood up, pulling until Derek came with him. Stiles put a hand up to Derek's face, actually able to properly appreciate it now that it wasn't hidden behind his disguise. "Alright?"

Derek nodded, leaning against Stiles' hand. "You?"

Smirking, Stiles replied, "Never better."

At the edge of the clearing, a familiar voice called, "Well if you two lovebirds are done bonding over the body of a dead werewolf, we've got a country to put back in order."

Stiles turned toward the voice. "Lydia?" She walked into the clearing, stepping over one of the bodies like it wasn't even there. The twins followed behind and on either side of her. So that's where they'd run off to. "What are you doing here?"

"Being a witness," she said, stopping over Peter's body and frowning down at it. "My testimony is the only thing standing between this country and an out-and-out power struggle for the throne. Tell me there's a way to make this body look human." She pointed down at Peter.

"Once the magic dissipates," Derek said, wiping the blood from around his mouth with one hand. It wasn't working very well, but Stiles didn't want to be the one to embarrass the Prince in front of Lady Lydia Martin. "He'll look human."

"You." Lydia pointed to Cora, then to Derek. "And you will have to go into hiding for a few days."

Cora scoffed and stepped closer to Lydia. "Why the hell would we do that? I've been living in the forest for two damn years. I'm not doing it again!"

" _Because_ neither of you should be connected to the death of the king. As far as we're concerned, all this carnage was done by a pack of rabid wolves. The Fugitive Prince…" Lydia pointed to Derek, giving a little shrug with one shoulder, "Well, I can come up with more than a few witnesses who will proclaim your innocence. Peter wouldn't let them be heard while he was alive. Once I've made Derek's case and he's been exonerated, the two of you can come back to Beacon. Triumphantly."

Stiles watched Derek's frown grow deeper and deeper as he appeared to ponder Lydia's words. After the longest moment of awkward silence Stiles had ever endured, Derek nodded. Then Derek turned to Stiles. "Would your father give my sister and me asylum?"

"Y-yeah," Stiles insisted. "Of course he would."

Derek turned, the tattoo on his back in heavy contrast against his skin, and walked toward the treeline. Stiles went to go after him and almost tripped over Peter's dead body. Already it looked smaller than the hulking monster that had almost killed him, but maybe it was an illusion born of the lack of terror. 

Stiles danced around Peter's body and hurried to catch up with Derek. "That's it? You're leaving _now_?"

"I can't be found with Peter's blood on my hands." Derek breached the treeline and Stiles looked back to see Cora a few yards behind them. "I can take care of myself, Stiles."

"Yeah, I know that." Stiles caught Derek's wrist with his right hand, pulling him to a stop, which Derek allowed. Stiles held up his left arm, wrist facing Derek's face. "But this? This means you don't have to. Let me help you. Let me bring you there."

"Everyone in the castle knows you came out for a picnic with the king. If you don't go back," Derek shook his wrist loose of Stiles' grasp, "they're going to think you're the one who killed him. They'll call you a black wizard. They'll call you a _werewolf_."

Stiles opened his mouth to argue the point, but found that he couldn't. Even with Lady Lydia vouching for him, if Stiles disappeared, even if he stayed and failed to act properly traumatized by the king's death, all eyes would fall on him. Swallowing against that thought, Stiles asked, "Will I get to see you again?"

One edge of Derek's lips curled upward. He caught Stiles' left arm and pressed his thumb to the inside of Stiles' wrist. "This means you're family, Stiles. You'll see me again, whether you like it or not."

Then Derek pressed a hard—and very iron-scented with Peter's dried blood—kiss to Stiles' mouth. He broke away and while Stiles reeled from the kiss, Derek took off into the woods, Cora fast on his heels. They moved through the forest unlike anything Stiles had ever really seen and he couldn't find the voice he needed to keep them from going.

Eventually he called out into the empty forest, "Wait? Like the good kind of family, right? Not the kind that would make that kiss vaguely incestuous? Derek?"

A hand on Stiles' shoulder made him jump and turn around, but it was Scott, not Derek. "C'mon, Stiles. It's time to go. Ethan took one of the horses back to the road to call more of the guard. They're going to be here any minute."

Letting Scott guide him out of the forest, Stiles asked, "He meant the good kind of family, right?"

"Totally," Scott agreed. He shuffled his feet a little as they walked back into the clearing. "Stiles? Would it fry your brain to put my anti-werewolf mojo back in place? With the king dying the way he did, I'd rather not lose my head."

"No, yeah," Stiles cried, curling his feet in his boots like it might help him connect to the remnants of the ley line under his feet. The battle had all but drained it—and Stiles—but he managed to find just enough to work with. Placing a hand on Scott's upper arm, Stiles breathed the magic back to life. "Good to go, buddy."

"Thanks." Scott gave Stiles this sad sort of smile and put Stiles' arm over his shoulders. They walked back toward where Allison and Lydia were talking, the remaining twin watching over Lydia like she might shatter at any second he let himself relax.

It dawned on Stiles that Lydia's authority would hinge on not being found out as a werewolf-sympathizer, but it also dawned on him that he would be doing no more magic until he'd done two things. The first was collapse to the ground and pass out, and the second was have some sort of snack. They'd only gotten halfway through lunch before Peter turned on them and in the meantime Stiles had burned through most of his reserves with magic. A freaking sandwich would have to be had.

Stiles managed to get sitting down, his hands in his lap, once they reached the two women. Turning his left wrist over, Stiles drew his thumb across his tattoo. The skin gave off a little spark that made Stiles' chest feel warm and cozy. Like Stiles was loved. "You too, big guy. You too."

~*~

Derek had just finished running the training course with the rest of Lord Stilinski's new recruits when he saw the younger Lord perched on the fence, watching. Taking off his helmet, Derek abandoned his post. He didn't allow himself to run, but his walk was a near thing as he closed the distance between them. "You're here."

Stiles grinned. "You're acting like I've been gone a lifetime. I was only in Beacon for six months."

Derek had so many questions he wanted to ask Stiles, but too many of them focused on finding out whether or not Stiles thought about the kisses they'd shared. Neck growing warm just above the apex of his tattoo, Derek pushed those questions away. There were more pressing matters than those of his disastrous heart. "Did they choose a successor?"

"They found Laura," Stiles said with a grin, throwing his long leg over the fence and hopping down the other side. "I rode straight here on her orders."

"She's to be made queen?" Derek asked, feeling his shoulders sag under the relief that his older sister still lived, and was well enough to be giving orders.

"Already has." Stiles took a step closer to Derek, his eyes on Derek's face like he was expecting Derek to bolt. Why would Derek go anywhere, now that Stiles was finally back? Derek already knew it was impossible to get away from him for good.

"How come we're just hearing about this now?"

Stiles took another step toward Derek. "I rode as fast as I could. Faster than the news travels, I'd guess. Plus, I learned this really cool spell when Deaton came to Beacon. Made my horse run twice as fast. I bet Allison wants to skin me right about now. She and Scott are probably still back in Greenberg, wondering what happened."

A strange sensation bubbled up and past Derek's throat, leaving his mouth as a surprised laugh. 

Stiles grinned back. "How's Cora?"

Derek looked over his shoulder to where Cora had been training with some of the other soldiers. She had one of the biggest guys pinned to the ground. Nodding toward her, Derek told Stiles, "Good. She loves it here. I don't think she's ever going to leave."

While Derek wasn't looking, Stiles slotted his hand into Derek's and squeezed it. "And you? Do you want to leave?"

Derek thought it over, looking at the wide, green hills surrounding them and remembering the salt taste of the ocean a half-day's ride west. He turned his eyes back to Stiles' hopeful expression. "I wouldn't mind spending my winters here. You know I need to take my place in Laura's court during the parliamentary seasons."

"Wait, a winter or _all_ of your winters?"

Slipping his arm around Stiles' back, Derek pulled him in for a deep kiss. Stiles tasted even better than Derek remembered, and his heart sped up satisfyingly when Derek licked at Stiles' lips. As they broke apart, Derek took the leap he'd been contemplating and avoiding for the past six months. "For as many winters as you'll have me."

A lopsided grin came over Stiles' face. "I'll hold you to that, Prince-of-mine."

A terrified shiver skittered down Derek's spine, but his heart felt more whole than it had since he first found out about the fire and who'd been to blame. Derek told himself he didn't have to worry so much, especially not with Stiles. 

Because Derek knew where Stiles came from now. Unlike with Lady Katherine, Derek had come to know Stiles' father very well. The Stilinski men were about as honest as they came, and Derek knew that if he couldn't trust Lord Stilinski's only son with his heart, he couldn't trust anyone. Derek preferred to assume that possibility would never come to pass.

**Author's Note:**

> You can visit me [on tumblr](http://pterawaters.tumblr.com), if you'd like. Don't be shy about comments! Did you like the AU setting? Did you hate it? Anything that worked well or didn't work well? Thanks!


End file.
